


A Song of Spies and Stardust

by lilredsoupbowl



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Arranged Marriage, Assassins, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2018-11-30 10:51:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 23,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11462067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilredsoupbowl/pseuds/lilredsoupbowl
Summary: Collection of Rogue One AUs that takes place in the 'A Song of Ice and Fire' (Game of Thrones) universe. *Coughs* Star Wars with swords, rebellions, medieval setting, 'my Lords' and 'my Ladies', and ice zombies coming to destroy the already war-torn realm. Because how else can one out dork themselves besides this mesh-up? The world will hopfully never know.





	1. The Alchemist's Daughter

The clientele of their meager apothecary shop enforced Galen Erso’s one rule for Jyn: ‘when I tell you to hide, hide!’ 

There was no refusal or complaint; one of the few occasions Jyn never attempted to even try for one. Sliding into her hidden crypt was second nature; she could find the trap door in the darkest black night. She’d mastered scurrying from the back garden and ducking inside when horses approached down the narrow street in the front. Or when she heard a stunted, ‘ _JYN_ —‘ from her father passing out their lone window.

All of King’s Landing knew that Galen Erso was the most skilled Alchemist in all the Seven Kingdoms; possibly even further outward into the Eastern lands. Jyn had heard enough foreign tongues and their foreign words to understand her father’s patrons traveled far and wide for their wares: the deadliest poisons that could be got.

They sold more than poisons, true. Jyn assisted with making cures for toothaches, pastes for rich noblemen’s gout. When women entered, it was usually to procure the great reprieve: moontea to dislodge a babe.  
  
Jyn had proven a quick study with these cures – learning from a man who could have easily become Grand Maester… had he not chosen to leave the Order for a woman. But Galen kept the secrets of his poisons under close guard; slowly easing his daughter into their lore. 

“Most medicines are poisons,” Galen informed his daughter as she raised a knife to cut up the stem of a bergamot plant. “It just depends on the dosage used. A clever killer knows this—utilizes this fact to ease their target into death. Think of a vengeful wife nightly increasing the drops of _Essence of Nightshade_ she administers her husband to help his sleep. At some point, given time, he will not wake again. No one will be any wiser that his wife be a murder!” 

Jyn asked, “Why purchase the stronger poisons at all, then?”

Galen mused, “Some people lack the tact or patience for time. In any case, I charge them more for their intentions. They pay us for silence.” 

The first time Jyn encountered the young assassin, she was barely fifteen and coming back from the market. Her father was attending a sick neighbor (offering cheaper services than an actual maester would), but their shop’s door was flung open; knocking against the wind as Jyn approached. She watched from the shadow of the doorway as a scrawny shadow rummaged through their storage cabinet – his long fingers sweeping past the fine bronze scales that were easily the most valuable object Jyn had ever seen in her life. He took out a vial of deep amber liquid and examined the contents in the dimmed light of their window—setting it back gently within the cabinet as he continued his search; shaking his head in disbelief.

“You’re not a thief, are you,” Jyn announced her presence; stepping into the darkened room and placing the basket on the floor. She stayed planted on the opposite side of the shop—surveying the man but at a distance. Jyn knew not to trust anyone who came for a certain poison. Especially if they broke in to help themselves!

The man shifted; hiding himself in the darkness with skill – but his dark hood had slipped during his search; showing a face younger than Jyn expected to find in the sort of folk who came to her father’s shop.  
  
Jyn couldn’t resist stepping closer; finding something deliciously taboo in being alone in the shop with a stranger. Especially the type of stranger she knew father would have kept her hidden from.

“What are you looking for,” Jyn asked with a practiced ease; like he was just any other customer in this shop.

“I was going to pay,” he muttered apprehensively. “No one was here and I couldn’t wait—“

“And you still shall pay,” Jyn rebuked; stepping closer to inspect the amber vial. She sighed under her breath, “So my father’s _Widow’s Blood_ was deemed unsatisfactory?”

“My orders are clear that this… target is to suffer,” he bluntly informed Jyn; causing the skin on the back of her neck to crawl. “To suffer greatly.” 

“Would time be a factor,” she asked; moving a stack of books off the table to locate a small cedar box.  
  
The assassin shook his head, “Must be handled and must be painful. Time is of no consideration—“

Jyn thrust the small box under his nose—realizing too late that it, in itself, would mean nothing to the man. Jyn raised the top, revealing a perfectly rounded stone. Untarnished cobalt blue. “ _The Strangler_ ,” announced Jyn with pride at offering such a prized killer—and made by her own father’s hands.  
  
Chuckling almost fondly, the man claimed, “Interesting bluff. Alas, I’ve used _the Strangler_ before and it looks—“  
  
“Then you’ve used the product of an amateur,” Jyn countered stubbornly; resisting the urge to stamp her foot. “When crafted by a true artist (like my father), _the Strangler_ molds into a perfectly circular stone. A gem, to a fool! Concentrated poison waiting to be unleashed—“  
  
The man crossed his arms in check, “And what does my little Alchemist suggest? How would you administer?”

Jyn crocked her head to the side; deeply pondering the assassin’s question. “I’d ease the poison into my target’s system,” Jyn finally decided on; remembering her father’s teachings. “Grind the stone back down into a powder—a pinch a day, and the death would appear the result of declining health. The final result: a brain aneurysm. Regrettable, but natural appearing.”

“I didn’t know Galen Erso had a daughter,” he told her; the conversational tone highlighting the foreign lifts of his accent heavily— _pleasingly_ , Jyn realized startling herself. 

“He does,” Jyn challenged back; standing tall and resolute, “Twelve golden dragons,” Jyn alerted the man; hand outstretched and waiting.

He hesitated, telling her, “That’s extortion. I usually pay your father—“

“I’m guessing you don’t usually come into my father’s shop and help yourself,” Jyn lifted an eyebrow in challenge. “It will cost you. To maintain our trust for future operations.” 

The assassin scowled at her; readying for an argument. But something, desperation maybe, held him back. Jyn smirked when he finally pouted. Smooth metal was pressed into her hand—he slowly dropped the coins, staring her straight in the eye as metal clanked against metal. Bolder than brass, Jyn stared back. The coin more than well earned, in Jyn’s opinion! 

“The cost of trust,” he insisted; stepping closer. A fleeting moment of hesitation, until his hand gripped Jyn around her wrist. Her stomach leapt in concern—but he only forced her own hand to curl around the coin. Like a thief would enter and take the coins away any moment. Or, that Jyn would allow that to occur without fighting back.

Jyn stood in the doorway as he retreated to the streets; weaving through bodies and wash lines until he vanished into an alleyway. Jyn flipped a single coin into the air, smiling broadly when she caught it again, 

“Pleasure doing business,” she called out to no one.


	2. The Misfortunes of the Andors

Each time the servant came to refill Jyn’s goblet of wine, she became more subdued. Almost resigned to her fate as the hall filled with a throng of bright colored garments. Sigils—Jyn knew she should be familiar with by now—waved from every corner of the room. Wine clogged her mind; blurring her vision until a sparrow became a crow became a turkey. Leaving Jyn giggling to herself until the Queen stealthily elbowed her; shoving Jyn’s elaborate brocade into her ribs.  
  
“Ease off, your _Highness_ ,” Jyn scolded; resisting the urge to refill her wine from Leia’s barely sipped goblet. Where Leia would be unfazed by the act, the amounted Lords might perceive an offense. Instead, Jyn stretched a hand outward across the table and taunted, “Which of the colorful birds is to be mine?”  
  
Leia eyed Jyn skeptically; reminding her, “None. You’ve been promised to Fest. House Andor. Their sigil is a bear. Standard a field of white snow, edged in red—a large black bear returning from its hunt.”  
  
Jyn’s eyes spanned the room; finding different shades of reds – but no white field of snow. No black bear. “Maybe they’ve changed their minds,” Jyn pondered softly to her friend. “In which case, I am sorry you will not receive reinforcements. But looks like I might escape unscathed—“ 

“I need to cement this alliance with marriage,” Leia told Jyn with the indifference of a lifelong politician. Only Jyn would hear the repeated apology in Leia’s tone. Circumstances forced the young women into roles they’d never expected: Generals in their own right on battlefield after battlefield. But the realities of their society lingered. Marriage remained a necessity if they planned on winning this war. And Jyn planned on winning; on seeing a crown resting on the only true _Queen’s_ brow. 

Jyn nodded, “And you’re too important to be offered up to any house as of yet.” 

“House Andor has been having a series of misfortunes,” Leia explained; motioning an approaching servant boy away from the two women at the raised table. “One after one, they’ve rotated through heirs. The current Lord Andor… was considered to be a formidable warrior in his day.” 

Jyn’s eyes narrowed, “How old is the current Lord? Forty? Please, Leia: don’t say—“ 

“He will be seventy-five on his next nameday,” winced Leia next to her. Seeking to be truthful, Leia admitted, “He has been twice widowed. All of his sons (and grandsons) perished in the Andors’ recent misfortunes. However, he seemed confident this alliance would forge brighter days for his house. Your youth a remedy for the Andors’ current lack of heirs.” 

Jyn blushed at the implication, hissing darkly to her friend, “You agreed to marry me into a house where people are dying left and right—“

Leia replied, “I believe the latest death involved a hunting mishap. Nothing to be done about it. Four men went missing in the woods and eaten by a great bear… the house’s namesake, strange enough! I believe it was the youngest remaining son, a nephew, and cousin.”

“The Andors are cursed,” Jyn remarked; finding herself laughing again. As cursed as the Organas and Ersos. The lot of them cursed to slowly watch their heritage slip away into nothing. Her throat burned at the realization that the Ersos would be long forgotten. An extinct house. Would anyone even recall that Jyn Erso had fought along side the rightful Queen? That she’d spilled blood to see the kingdom righted again—or would that name dissolve? A brief sentence in a Maester’s books: _…one of the Queen’s ladies married an impotent old lord from Fes_ t. And that would be that. 

Jyn drank and laughed; compelled to at least appear merry at this gathering. “Perhaps I shall prove too much for him? Perhaps an enthusiastic bedding might make me a jolly widow?”  
  
The sides of Leia’s mouth turned upward, “Jyn, not so loudly.” 

“I’ve always wanted to be a widow. Even at a young age, something about widowhood always delighted me,” Jyn said with a smirk. “Private quarters. An unmolested bedchamber. I’d run the household. I’d decide who we’re trading with, battling with, or helping—truly, if I give my seventy-five year old lord-husband a final thrill on our wedding night, I would be commanding the Andor forces. You’d still get exactly what we sought.” 

“Probably would not take much,” Leia teased; under her breath tempting, “A few too many gasps and moans might just send the man into spasms.” 

Jyn admitted, “Maybe roll him under me and fuck him into his grave—“ 

“JYN!” Leia looked up and down the table; ensuring no one was eavesdropping on their conversation. “No one can hear us even jesting about this. What if he does… _succumb_? Any whispers of us plotting against the Andor line would create a new enemy. We cannot survive a war on all sides!” 

“I’m only _plotting_ to conduct my wifely duties in such a manner that my husband ends up suffocating himself on our featherbed,” said Jyn; watching the massive oak doors of the great hall open as a new set of banners swept towards Princess Leia’s table. A field of snowy white. Not the green grassy hill of her father’s house. Not a fox returning to its burrow, but a stately black bear swiping its claws at an unseen foe.  
  
At the very least, the sigil wasn’t a bird. Jyn would have detested becoming a bird of any sort.  
  
A herald dressed in black approached Leia; bowing lowly and muttering amongst themselves. A small group—dwindling numbers. Only eight men in total, and Jyn prayed they at least brought an impressive military. Once this pageantry was finished, there was still a war to be fought! Jyn studied the faces of the Festian men; all bearded and dark—but not one graying. Not one of them could be mistaken for a seventy-year-old man. Did her husband-to-be need a bit of a lay-in before the festivities? Had traveling proven too much for him? Jyn couldn’t allow herself to hope—  
  
Jyn wore the pleased grin of the Erso’s fox; a cunning creature sure it was about to win at this game. Hope dashed only as a singular young man started to speak for the group. A measured manner—accented but clear voice as he explained how the party had lost their way. Perhaps not skilled in projecting for a crowd, but Leia nodded; indicating that she was picking up each word.  
  
There was nothing altogether compelling about this one man. Gaunt where a knight should be broad. Rambling on in his pleasantries and courtesies to Leia in the exacting way that caused Jyn’s attention to waver. There were two obvious diplomats in the hall: Leia and this Festian. Jyn nodded when she heard herself introduced to the Festians but continued to watch the doorway—did Lord Andor plan on making some grand entrance? 

Leia cleared her throat; using a soft, compassionate voice that seemed to fill every corner of the great hall, “I am sorried, indeed, by this new loss for your house. Imagine: waking in the middle of the night to relieve himself, then falling through an ice covered lake? It has been a traumatic journey for your men—“ Jyn jerked her neck upward to watch Leia control her laughter. Lord Andor: pissed on an ice covered lake… the grim faces of the eight Andor men seemed to confirm their newest lord fell through the ice to his death after taking a piss. “Although I am to understand the late Lord Andor enjoyed a long, happy life despite recent events, and was a noted warrior to be sure.” 

It was such a Leia maneuver; cordial utterings of sorrow before bringing the men back to present: war. They needed warriors—and Leia had it hanging in the air: the slight suggestion that the late Lord Andor would want them all to fight on in his memory! Jyn plastered on a pout of regret; unsure what level of mourning she owed to a man she’d never met—and only recently learned she’d be linked to by marriage. The pout served Jyn well, masking her smile of relief that might offend the Andors in their grief. 

“He was a great man,” the Festian talk-piece agreed. “Very sympathetic to the cause, your Majesty. As were many of us—please, know our lack of assistance was only a symptom of the sudden changes in leadership we’ve been experiencing. We remain loyal to the rightful ruler: Queen Leia of house –“

Leia stilled his praise with a wave of her hand; humbly—but more impatiently waiting to hear confirmation of their contributions, “Am I addressing the current Lord Andor, or is the latest heir still in Fest?” 

Flustered, he bowed awkwardly as another Festian announced, “Lord Cassian Andor, first of his name. The Winter Bear. Great-grandson to the second cousin of our late Lord Floritt; Nephew thrice removed from the second to last Lord Andor, Tibitus. Godson to the fifth Lord Andor, Hecotus—“ 

Jyn listened to the long, intricate explanation of why the man standing before them belonged, of the many levels of removal that led to him claiming the title ‘Lord Andor’, with disinterest. Her part in this circus had ended. Festian names jumbled in her head already heavy with drink. Copious amounts of wine lingered through the warmth of the fire pits. Jyn almost nodded off as decades of Andors were listed off to Leia – Leia holding a soft smile but teeth barring in frustration. 

“By all accounts,” Leia finally interrupted. “It would appear you’ve located the correct descendent to take charge. You are very welcome to my table, Lord Andor—“ 

“I was the steward,” Lord Cassian Andor was quick to add for himself. “The castle steward. I sat in all meetings; all discussions and correspondences I was privy to –“ 

Leia nodded understanding; allowing the bashful new lord to breathe a sigh of relief: he had been accepted. Lord Cassian Andor passed muster—as far as Leia's ambitions were concerned. Still, Lord Andor moved to sit at a lower table with his men—rising when Leia gestured at him to join the high table to the right of Jyn. 

“Quite a sweetling, I think,” Leia praised to Jyn. “Though your plans be dashed now!” 

Jyn smirked; shrugging her shoulders with little care, “Seems I won’t be Lady Andor after all. Or get to command their forces. Rotten luck—“ 

Leia retorted, “You do understand the deal still exists?” 

Jyn watched the long limbs of the new Lord Andor as he bashed into a serving boy’s tray—stopping to assist the youth in righting himself and adjusting the goblets that almost fell. 

Jyn lowered her voice; eyes trained on the man, “He’s likely already married. So I’m off the hook—“ 

“Are you married?” Leia demanded as he started to sit; causing the man to linger as his eyes swept the table. 

“No…” he seemed generally confused by this line of questioning—processing the meaning as he took in Jyn seated and pointedly avoiding eye contact. He was formally the steward, Jyn knew he understood the agreement without Leia having to spell it out.

In unison, the would-be couple grab their own goblets of wine and drank heavily. Leia surveying her work with a proud smile.

She motioned Jyn closer; whispering deep into her friend’s ear, “You’ll have a hard time killing this one. I can tell!”


	3. Mi'Lady

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Continuation of sorts for 'Misfortunes of the Andors'.

There was no preamble to the wedding ceremony. Catching Cassian almost off guard when he’d stood round the Queen’s war table to receive his squadron’s battling orders one moment, only to be lined up in front of a balding septon the next; squared off with Jyn Erso still dressed in her spoiled trousers and tunic from the training yard.

Cassian had little study in the ways of the South. Gratefully, they were not the only pair being coupled off. Four brides stood with four grooms. Cassian mirrored the other men’s gestures— how they clasped their brides hands. He repeated the prayer of the Seven, not quite uttering in the correct cadence to match Jyn’s clear voice. And he fumbled too often for his words.

She noticed his errors with mild indifference. Giving nothing of herself as her voice promised everything—

“ _I am yours, you are mine_ ,” she parroted back; void of any warmth. Eyes still refusing to glance up at him; like that would be too much an acknowledgement of Cassian’s existence to forebear.

She was a lady promised a lord—fastened to little more than a servant instead. Cassian commiserated her loss; understanding himself as being not quite what was deserved. To booster his peerage solely to match her standing, Cassian kept his face stricken and blank; the mask of nobility he’d witnessed time and time again. At the very least, he would play the part to ensure his bride wasn’t completely publically embarrassed by her simple groom.

Yet he failed even at that! 

The first offense he made against his wife was being a beat too far behind the other grooms when the septon announced to the room, “—We stand here, in the sight of gods and men, to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul: now and forever!” 

“I am yours and you are mine, from this day until the end of my days,” Jyn swore with the rest of them—leaving Cassian slurring to catch up. 

“—From this day until my…” he raced to call out as the rest of the room fell silent. Cassian looked from his left to his right; watching the other grooms dropping to skim chaste kisses across their brides lips. So brief a kiss, they’d parted and marched for opposite sides of the hall before Cassian turned back to take in his wife—and the irrefutable hurt in her eyes.

Jyn barely masked her fury at this slight— chin trembling and eyes (for the first time fixed on him) piercing with contempt. His lack of knowledge over words and customs she’d overlooked, but not being left unkissed like she was too plain to stomach administering even fleeting tenderness upon! 

Recognizing the offense, Cassian held out a hand—but Jyn spun on her center; walking off to Queen Leia’s war table and ignoring his appeal of, “ _Mi’Lady._ ”


	4. Dragonglass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Continuation of 'Misfortunes of the Andors'.

Jyn had always boasted the special skill of evasion. Avoiding the sparse wedding feast contrived of their already deflated army rations was easy misdirection: so many brides, one slipping back to her rooms was bound to go unobserved. Even as one of the Queen’s advisors. There was far too much noise, far too many seeking out any opportunity to celebrate on the onset of winter, that Jyn dissolved; backtracking up a flight of stairs to capture the rare peace of solitude.

However, any moments of silence, or peace to gather her thoughts, were stunted when the band of Festian men hurled a shirtless Lord Andor into the chamber after her. They exited, securing the hunk of door behind them, calling out jeers about the bedding—but her new husband barely risked a glance in her direction. Much more preoccupied with wrapping a thick blanket around his shoulders and sitting in front of the fire with a goblet of wine and thick bound book. 

The first words they managed to share together started with his sudden announcement, “—We can get an annulment. After the war.” 

It took less than three hours of marriage for Cassian to reach this conclusion. Jyn tried to ignore feeling personally affronted: another male (who the Seven Kingdoms would now view as her kin) abandoning her. In truth, two strangers – who did not desire each other—would naturally reach a mutual agreement to remedy such a situation. It did no good to dwell or feel pained by a stranger’s actions.

“On what grounds?” she asked in a cool voice; a separation from anything familial. Another icy arrangement for current survival. She should have expected as much. 

His eyes darted down to the volume in his lap, “— _Non consummatum_.”

“You would willingly admit to never sharing my bed,” Jyn fought to sound dispassionate now. Her scowl growing as her husband kept reading by the fire. “Do you understand what you’d be admitting to? An unwillingness to lay with your wife? Or could you simply not carry through with the act?”

He lifted his goblet to her in toast, “I am sorry, dear _wife_. I seem to have drunk too much on our wedding night and was unable to proceed with my marriage duties. You shall be seen as the injured party, I a louse. Should this war end in our favor, I’ll tell everyone we never bedded. I’ll return to the North, and you shall be free to do as you wish—“

“I don’t trust you,” Jyn lashed out. “I don’t see what benefit—"

“I’ll not touch you,” repeated her husband; for the first time looking directly at her. “Not now: not ever.” 

In three hours, Jyn had managed to repulse Lord Andor without actively trying. She gripped the sheets in anger—but calmly answered, “As you say: I shall not take liberties either. Is that all settled now?” 

He nodded solemnly to her—going back to his reading as Jyn idly drummed her fingers across the featherbed. The moments of solitude there, if she could just ignore the whishing of parchment as her indifferent husband turned a page in his book. She studied the bob of his throat each time Cassian took a delicate sip of his wine—not quite drinking enough to back the claim he’d been too drunk to perform.

“Are you not willing to share?” Jyn sat tall in the bed; dropping a shoulder to allow her nightgown to slip – a hint of skin, but still he’d never touch her. Naturally, Jyn had been paired off with a fresh lordling and his notions of nobility!

Seemingly lost in a trance, he approached her; goblet already outstretched and the bound book knocking against his thigh as long fingers fumbled to marked his place.

Jyn sipped deeply; eyes trained on her husband—egging him on when Cassian turned to leave, Jyn cried out: “Come to bed. It is awfully large for one, but with plenty of room for reading. Would make it easier for us to share our wine. I’m assuming it was meant for me as well? To share with the late Lord Andor at our bedding?”  
  
Cassian nodded. He passed Jyn the wine, taking his time to cross the featherbed—then built the pillows up on the headboard so he could never comfortably rest next to her. Cassian sat, the book again pooled in his lap, and he read. When Lord Andor seemed cozy again, Jyn passed over the goblet.

“I’m not a virgin,” Jyn prodded the man. “Lost my maidenhead to some bard in a tavern. Quite a good romp was had!” 

“I never thought on it,” Cassian told her tightly. “It had nothing to do with—“ 

“You never questioned if you’d be wedding a maid or not?” accused Jyn cruelly. “I’ll bet your predecessor would have dragged me from the bed, naked, and publically announce he’d been robbed.”  
  
Jyn watched his eyes widen a fraction at that image of her being paraded around the castle naked. But he only coughed into his hand; shrugging uninvolved, “You’re too fair. He’d probably have gone along with it—only to make grating remarks when you vexed him.” 

“Sounds like a frozen lake and a morning piss saved me from being mildly irritated for the rest of my life. Also, I think you paid a compliment there—“

Cassian did not admit to that—or made any other remark of the sort. So Jyn allowed the moment to pass, commanding now that he read his book aloud to amuse her.  
  
In a clear voice, Cassian read, “ _Eight thousand years before the conquest of the West, the Age of Heroes, with all its advancements, was stilled by the Long Night. For an entire generation, the world was masked in darkness. Widespread famine ravaged the lands. Mothers smothered their babes rather than watch them slowly perish—_ “ 

“Ghastly,” exclaimed Jyn as she curled nearer the storyteller.

“—Perhaps it is a bit much… to read aloud?” 

Jyn poked her husband in his side; forcing him to wince in surprise, “Keep reading! I can tell it is only just getting to the good part!”

They continue to drink from the same goblet as Cassian read, “ _From the Lands of Always Winter, came a race of Others. The Others fought with weapons forged in ice and ancient magic; weapons that were no match for the iron-forged gear used by the First Men. Although ancient Men fought valiantly against this hardy foe, it was not until the discovery of dragonglass that proved the Others' weaponry could be matched. Even destroyed…_ have you ever seen dragonglass?” Cassian interrupted his own story to ask. 

Jyn shook her head the negative; sliding out of her bed to rummage through Lord Andor’s belongings when he bragged about inheriting a fabled dragonglass dagger. From his truck, she pulled forth a slender black dagger—brittle and worn looking. Ice cold to the touch. Jyn raised the dagger into the air, jabbing at invisible foes before remarking, “I think this would splinter if I touched it to an icicle—let alone rammed it into an ice demon!”

“That’s survived thousands of years in my family—“ 

Jyn brought the dagger back to bed; sprawling across pillows as she glided a finger over the chiseled sides of the blade, “I’ll reserve my disbelief.”

As they drank more and more, he started to put on accents for different characters. Wights became whistles of wind howling from behind Cassian’s teeth. Fancy lords and ladies of the South supplied perfumed words with little feeling—which Jyn laughed roguishly along with. Bran the Builder was stoic strength and a firm voice… not unlike the Lord himself seemed to hone.

Jyn fell asleep to this playacting of ancient heroes. Feeling, for the first time in years, able to sleep without apprehension. Jyn was almost happy, recalling her early years of bedtime stories and murmuring male voices—

When she woke, her husband had gone.  
  
Jyn rolled to sit atop the featherbed; dangling her legs over the side as her nightgown bunched to free her bare legs to the crisp Autumn morning. The Northern forces brought the first signs of winter with them, it would appear. 

The chilled air the only proof yesterday had occurred. Lord Andor’s trunk was now gone—his blanket no longer by the fire.

Jyn glanced over her shoulder to see her mushed pillow laying next to another—a pillow propped up against the wooden headboard. Cassian Andor had never faltered. So resolved in his promises to Jyn, he’d slept in a hunch against the headboard in case anything more seemed an encroachment on her person.  
  
On top his pillow, rested the dragonglass dagger – waiting for her to claim. A very strange thing to leave behind, in Jyn opinion. But maybe Lord Andor was still about? Maybe he wanted an excuse to return?  
  
Already hearing commotion in the hallway as the feet of servants and soldiers teetering to bring the castle back to life, Jyn knew a decision had to be made fast—before any ladies came to rouse her. Taking the dragonglass in hand, Jyn tested the sharpness of the weapon against her palm—she hissed at the contact. The dagger proved sharper than she’d assumed last night. A line of pink formed where Jyn had smoothed the blade over her skin.  
  
She hesitated only a moment before piercing the crease in her palm with the knife until it leaked blood. Jyn squeezed her skin, watching as ruby droplets landed to stain the pristine sheets of her celibate wedding night.

Jyn ran a hand through her work; rubbing the blood in before fisting her hand to supply more. It was a troubling thought, to acknowledge the many pairs of eyes who’d be inspecting her sheets within the hour; heads pressed together as they passed judgment on not just Jyn—but Cassian too. Was there enough blood for their estimations? Too long a trail to be believed?

The cut on her hand clotted before two old septas crossed the threshold; knocking politely and waiting for Jyn to call them forward. The first septa’s eyes locked on the trail of blood swiftly, patting Jyn’s shoulder in comfort. 

“It is a natural act. Ordained by the gods—“  
  
The other spoke softly, “Are you hurt, my lady? Might I bring you anything?”

“Only sore,” Jyn lied smoothly; masking her discomfort with false timidity as she crawled from the bed; limping slightly for good measure—she had practiced long in the training yard with Bodhi, after all! 

Leia rounded the corner at full speed, “Your husband survived the first night?”  
  
Jyn grinned at her friend; teasing too loudly, “Fest wasn’t as _cold_ as we’d imagined!” The septas turned purple at the innuendo. Noticeably turning their backs as the two younger women rounded to look over their war map. 

Leia explained, “The Festians are already marching towards the Riverlands. Lord Andor seemed confident he could undertake a series of raids and ambushes that cuts-off the Imperials from their supply line—“

Jyn stumbled over, “He is gone?”  
  
“He did not bid you farewell? Just bedded you, then left—when I met Lord Andor again, you’ll be lucky if I don’t murder him myself, and dispose of his balls—“ 

Jyn ground out, “It is of no consequence. Truly.”

After all, what did Cassian leave behind? Not a wife—not a real one. He came to make this alliance, and he did so. In spite of whatever mess Jyn made on those bed sheets.

In spite of the dragonglass he’d carelessly left behind.


	5. Is She Fair?

“Is she _fair_?”

That was what the late Lord Andor had asked. That was all.

Useless information, really. Information Cassian could not retrieve anything more illuminating about—just what he’d already read to the Lord from the brief missive. The letter asked for support, promised an alliance, but had not listed off the varying descriptors of Lady Jyn Erso’s physical appearance.

Cassian had wanted to hiss, “ _Does it matter?_ ” Deciding instead to skim back through the page long entreat. Cassian cleared his throat before reciting, “... _Loyal_ . … _Young_ . … _Pale… and spirited_ —“

Lord Andor had anguished, “ _That_ Queen might have least offered up a pretty face to sweeten the deal. Or given me the right to choose amongst her ladies. Tis an insult to submit only a girl barely labeled nobility in the South—“

* * *

_"Is she fair?"_

The question now bounced around Cassian’s thoughts as he knelt awaiting the deathblow. The siege of the Riverlands had failed. The Festian forces found themselves cornered on the water's edge by a score of mercenaries. Clipped conversations about a ransom for the ‘ _LORD_ ’. It took being dragged into the center of the mob and pressed into the damp grass for Cassian to realize they meant him.

Blood pooled from a wound on his forehead; leaking downward and seeping into his right eye. His vision obscuring as a result, but his thoughts remained his own. Cassian at least had those in the end.

From poor orphaned relation, to the steadfast servant, to calculated voice of reason in Council, Cassian would be ending as Lord Andor.

And the precarious Lord Andor thought of the Lady not truly his. Feeling no shame (for once) in allowing his parting thoughts to be pleasantly indulgent.

The repeated words of a ransom comical in a sense, because it was Cassian himself who’d last counted the depleted coffers of Fest. From his work as the steward, Cassian knew the ledgers by heart; to the exact percentage he’d calculated needed to remain for the castle to survive the coming winter.

No aide would come from Fest. They would mourn him, what little family he had left. They would mourn that fourth-cousin once-removed who’d scowled and lurked on the outside of all merriment and conversation. They would share vague memories of his appearance, cite the Andor looks generally, but then move on. Find the next new heir…

* * *

Cassian thought of the morning, hiding in the shadows of the keep, when _SHE_ danced around her opponent in the training yard—leaping and laughing when the man, wrapped in thick-padded leather armor, failed to make contact with any of his blows.

Her face at rest had been a scowl like his own. But hearing Jyn Erso laugh… something light and airy (which Cassian had assumed could never exist) flopped unsettled in his stomach.

“Steady on,” implored her opponent; staggering to keep his footing after Lady Jyn whacked her mace solidly into his chest. “You said you’d be helping me, Jyn. Can’t you go a little easy—“

“You don’t learn from easy, Bodhi!”

Crouching low, Jyn had snarled at Bodhi; twirling her mace overhead before lodging it just over Bodhi’s shoulder. It was a strategic move: striking nothing but air. Giving the man confidence in believing he’d blocked a blow for once.

A moment of such kindness by Cassian’s estimations, even Lady Jyn’s future blows that walloped the young man could not diminish what Cassian had seen. She bestowed clouts that would welt and yellow skin, but Cassian could still hear the frenzied laughter floating from the training yard to prickle his hearing.

* * *

The end was to be a hired sellsword in a white helm, stepping forward to the kneeling Lord Andor with a mighty sword of steel. He spoke in a foreign tongue—in a language unheard of in the Northern realms.

But Cassian understood the implication as his tethered arms bowed behind his back: the sellswords had gotten an answer from the ransom demand.

When the sword raised overhead, Cassian remembered a warm bedchamber. Sharing fine wine (too rich for his palette), and finding an ease and understanding in the most unlikely of places: with a stranger. A stranger whose scowl looked lethal, but whose laugh reminded lungs how to breathe; how to properly fill and flex again. Though Cassian couldn't remember his parents, he'd been raised in a castle surrounded by ' _family_ '. They shared the same blood in their veins. Never cruel, but the Andors had been a distant and intent people. Fabled for these traits.

Family was never warmth by the fire, stories in the night—read in silly voices he couldn't fathom how he'd constructed such foolery! But they achieved the desired results of more laughter!

For once, Cassian had considered ' _family_ ' could mean something much more than those who shared his name; who he'd been raised to serve until the end.

* * *

 

The _whack_ of a cracked skull came first. Followed by the sound of steel crashing against a rock. The rock: where Cassian had been about to rest his neck. From the corners of his vision, Cassian saw the cages open as Festian men rushed to pick up arms in the fray. Ropes severed by knights in bright blue cloaks sworn to the Queen.

Naturally, _SHE_ was front and center in the attack. Jyn's mace whirling backward before rising to dispatch the sellsword rushing her.

Not quite on his own accord, Cassian whispered, " _Jyn_ —" astonished by his own boldness. Fortunately, the Lady was much too preoccupied to hear him speak.

Cassian thought himself completely unnoticed until Jyn turned and kicked a sword to his feet. The same sword meant to be taking his head off moments ago. An unknown knight cut Cassian's bindings as Jyn taunted down to him, "Is the battle won yet, my Lord?"

Rising to his feet and swishing the new sword experimentally through the air, Cassian silently answered, " _No. Not quite yet_."

There was always hesitation in his movements; a suspicion that he didn’t belong or wasn’t in the right—none of which the creature currently whacking her mace through the row of mercenaries must have ever felt.

Jyn Erso never hesitated a moment of her life; fluid movement rolling into the woman jamming the handle of her mace through the helm of her enemy—a blow that had to leave a face shattered beyond recognition.  
  
_Fair_ would never be enough to describe this woman.


	6. No Debt Required

_“—And I found his faloorum, fadidle eye-ooorum_   
_I found his faloorum, fadidle all-day!_   
_I found his faloorum, he got my ding-doorum down:_   
_Maids, when you’re young,_ _  
_ Never wed an old man!”

  
Jyn sang out with the gathered party; billowing each vulgar word like the raunchiest soldier stationed around the fire. Only partially because Lord Andor was sulking at the display; seated purposefully away from the singers. The other liberated Festians were more than happy to join the celebration: they were still alive, after all!   
  
Bitter ale flowed freely from a cart. Which seemed to upset her husband. But not as much as the presence of the camp followers rotating from male lap to male lap. It was only when the first prostitute disappeared into the shadows outlining their camp (with her first conquest of the night) that Cassian sprung up behind Jyn to declare, “You should retire to _your_ tent.”

Jyn would have to give the man credit where credit was due: Lord Andor understood enough of her person to not command or order, as would be expected from any other _lawful_ husband. Though neither likely to work on Jyn. Cassian issued only a short suggestion before returning to his lonely log; arms crossed around himself as he pouted on.   
  
Instead of heeding his advice, Jyn started singing the next song with the group,   


  
_“As I was sitting by the fireside_   
_Telln’ lies and drinking porter_   
_Suddenly a thought came to head:_   
_I’ve never shagged Ol’ Walen’s daughter!_   
  
_Giddy I aye, giddy I ohhhh,_   
_Giddy I aye for the one-eyed Walen_   
_Shove it up, stuff it up, balls and all--_   
_A didle-didle-didle-dit, taaay!_   
  
_When walkin’ through the street one day,_   
_I came across Ol’ Walen’s daughter,_   
_Nary a word did I have to say,_   
_‘Fore that maiden’s skirts did start aliftn’_ _—_ ”   


  
A flourish of skirts caught Jyn’s attention over the fire. A buxom whore boldly lifted her own skirts (well past her knees!) to settle comfortably in the lap of one of the Festian warriors. Thick and ruddy arms wrapped around his neck as she bounced to the song’s beat.

The Festian was a strong and handsome youth; only recently sprouting dark hairs along his sharp chin, and had a pleasant blush rising to his cheeks from the whore’s attentions. This man was not much younger than Lord Andor had to be…  


  
_“I laid that damsel on me bed,_   
_Threw the right leg on over_   
_Nary a word did the maid say,_   
Just laughed like hell till the fun was over!”  
  


With morbid curiosity, Jyn watched the whore work her charms. A placid hand stroked the warrior’s chest; teasing over a coarse undershirt of what pleasure might be felt once it discarded. A plump bottom lip was bitten as she surveyed this newest prey. Such a coy seduction tactic! Leaving the man himself to initiate the first kisses along her long neck _—_ running downward to heaving bosom.   
  
Jyn marveled at the power wield in a simple touch of the hand. And pondered what dark stubble felt like against skin. Skin-on-skin contact was easier to understand. Skin was soft and warm; marking the contact as being pleasant for all involved. Was no wonder folk seemed to enjoyed it! But would a beard not scratch? Or would it just tickle? A beard had to feel well enough: for why would any man grow a beard if no woman wanted to kiss it?   
  
Lord Andor’s beard was thicker, Jyn thought. Much more manly than the youth’s. But shook her head… because that was a stupid observation to make.   
  
Jyn excused herself from the group, hedging towards the treeline. Calling back a harsh, “Got to piss,” when Cassian straightened on his log as she passed.   
  
Once hidden away from the fire, Jyn clutched a tree limb and panted for breath; feeling quite uneasy. Was she still recovering from battle?   
  
The bark scraped, but Jyn stayed pressed against the tree. Her face afire and lungs stretched awkwardly to continue filling with air.   
  
A rustling of leaves brought Jyn out of this fog. She cursed, berating herself for leaving mace behind. Her guard should never be down; especially in a warzone. But the rough giggle of a man was heard from the other side of her tree. Jyn leaned out and watched as the buxom whore loosened the Festian warrior’s trousers to the forest floor. The whore tugged at a freed cock swiftly before being backed against a tree. All seduction finished as the man thrust against her.   
  
Fucking was a strange act. Jyn had long decided this. Observing the rutting hounds as a child had only started this belief. Even more when the whore’s face became visible in the moonlight: the bored indifference of a worker just setting out their wares on marketday. Despite her squeals otherwise. Whatever interest the whore had performed during the fireside seduction had vanished as the youth cried out overcome with lust; his hips ramming in a frenzy.   
  
Was truly a shame that fucking was apparently not pleasurable for females in the least, because something about this scene forced Jyn to respond. It was the youth, she realized too quickly. His sounds; the dark hair falling in his eyes as he fucked on. Jyn brushed her legs together as she felt a wetness leaking from her cunt.   
  
She imagined herself locked in _his_ embrace. His hands gripping her hips. The taste of his tongue as he swiped it against her lips. His beard, be it scraping or tickling, against her teats.   
  
Jyn was disappointed the exchange ended so soon. The Festian crying out one final time before his hips stilled. The whore offering up a palmed hand in front of his face as a silent request for payment.   
  
Bits and pieces Jyn stored away for her future recollections. She left out the call for payment and look of boredom from the whore. But if tonight her clever fingers found themselves dragging down her trousers to play, Jyn wanted to remember dark hair, darker eyes, a thicker beard, and the sounds of a Festian accent tittering towards his end —   
  
“You really shouldn’t go off without a lookout,” Cassian announced as he entered the treeline. “Even just to _piss_ .”   
  
Jyn roared back, “Wasn’t finished yet!”   
  
Cassian raised an eyebrow at her defensive tone. Unaware just how frazzled he found Jyn this evening. His arms crossed around him, but Cassian made no move to look away.   
  
So Jyn ducked behind the tree. Thankfully since abandoned by the rushed coupling. She called behind her, “You better not look!”

Cassian’s retort was a firm, “Hadn’t planned on it.”   
  
Their wedding night agreement persisted.   
  
Jyn counted to ten in her head. Hands clasping to fake-adjust her belt as she turned once more to face Lord Andor.   
  
“Feel better?” he asked; turning to follow Jyn back to camp. A dark shadow looming, but protective. Ever watchful.   
  
Jyn wanted to reply, ‘ _Hardly_ ’. She was filled with the need to be touched. Overcome by this desire. To be thoroughly enjoyed just once. She suspected the only remedy was for Cassian to pin her against a tree and ravish her desperately. To be trapped amongst two things that might prickle her naked body: the bark of a tree and Cassian’s stubble.   
  
But Jyn was a long-studied liar, “Much better.”   
  
She’d had enough of the celebration. With the fireside company now thinned-out as men either went off to sleep or fled to the woods with their camp follower of choice, Jyn decided it was time to retire to her tent. Because she was ready to do so!   
  
Lifting the flap of her tent, Jyn realized her husband had kept following her through camp. Lord Andor cleared his throat when he moved to stand next to her. Jyn allowed the flap to fall. Was he going to request… _duties_ performed—? Now, Jyn wasn’t sure if she’d be more likely to submit to this request or punch him square in the face. In all likelihood, both would occur!

“It was brave,” admitted Cassian suddenly fixated on the ground. “Very brave to rescue us.”

It wasn’t about hiding disappointment, because there was nothing to be disappointed about. Jyn noted instead, “The Queen received a raven saying they had some fancy _lordling_ of ours who might need assistance. She’s the one who sent reinforcements. I just so happened to be nearby.” Rode for a day and a half to be thus ‘ _nearby’_.

“But you came for us,” Cassian said. “Which was very brave.”   
  
She came and fought. She’d saved his life, despite his use of the all encompassing ‘us’. He was the one about to forfeit a head. Jyn had saved him. Had acted for his sake.   
  
Still, her shoulder lifted and fell with nonchalance. “Was a trifle… anyone would have _—”_

His hand reached out to grab her arm before Jyn could escape inside the tent. A quick lick of his tongue smoothed over his wind-chapped lips before Cassian told her, “Not just _anyone_ would have come for us. In fact, many would not have even tried. …thank you. I am in your debt.”   
  
So simple a touch. Jyn could feel his heat through the fabric of her shirt; he radiated warmth! His lips now glistening wetness… there was no way he was aware of how tempting they appeared in this moment.   
  
On its own volition, a hand rose to touch Cassian’s own. Timid when it felt the pleasant weight of the skin-on-skin contact. Like Jyn had assumed: the touch was pleasant, warm, and promised something primal. Something ancient; far beyond either man or woman’s memories.   
  
It would be so simple to call-in her debt: to drag Cassian into her tent. To cast-off her undershirt and feel stubble against skin. Would she unfasten his belt and find a prick ready at attention? Would his earnest voice whisper of how long he’d desired this? Desired her? Or could she stand being laid on the hard ground and staring up into brown eyes fixed elsewhere; needing to think of another in order to properly ‘work-off’ his debt?

Jyn’s hand slipped to her side, “No debt is required. I am always willing to assist an ally in need.”

She ducked into the tent without looking back; hearing a soft laugh as he persisted in praising, “Still: very brave.”  

And still a maid, scoffed Jyn as she stretched out on her thin mat. No lies about a bard or singing vulgar songs would change that.


	7. A Stubborn Streak

Cassian could not decide if he was paying for the failure that was his first military campaign by the wrathful gods of his ancestors, or the southern ones who made so little sense to him. But he knew they’d prescribed a very effective tactic to make Cassian feel their ire. Repeated on cycle; day after day.  
  
The train of soldiers pushed onward through the Riverlands. Retreating to the Queen’s current stronghold. Lady Jyn leading the way; bouncing atop her horse sunrise to sunset. She showed no signs of being travel-worn from the constant exertion.  
  
Far from it! Motion was a more natural state for Jyn Erso; with her an athletic figure and muscles toned from activities usually denied females.  
  
_War_ , Cassian reminded himself swiftly. Ladies were not typically found on battlefields. Or as skilled as this one… he refused to dwell on what other activities took up Jyn Erso’s time or contributed to her physique.  
  
Cassian was so focused on the rise and fall of her hips on that saddle, he’d barely caught the skin of fresh water Bodhi tossed towards him. Bodhi motioned for Cassian to drink, so he did. Drank the water greedily and then handed it back with a low apology.  
  
“You looked thirsty,” explain the man kindly. Bodhi leaned forward in his saddle now, eagerly awaiting any idle conversation with Cassian. Bodhi always seemed eager for talking. Silly things, really. Vague pleasantries that Cassian had yet to establish where such pleasantness came from. Why was Bodhi Rook trying to get to know him?  
  
“What’s it like in the North?” Bodhi stumbled over air in excitement. “I hear it snows even in summer. And you’ve got forests with trees the size of castle towers!”  
  
Wiping sweat off his brow, Cassian retorted, “It’s very cold.”

Cut and dry to put an end of talking. Cassian was now glancing around at the other male riders; needing to observe if anyone else was making note of the movement of Lady Jyn’s backside on her mount. Did anyone else notice the way an unseasonal heat made the lady’s shirt and trousers cling just so...  
  
But Bodhi was not easily deterred from talking, “I think I shall like the North.”  
  
What had he said? Cassian had been eyeing his companions with distrust, pondering if the lady was overheated, but not heard a word Bodhi had spoken. Something about traveling North?  
  
“East. We’re going to the east,” corrected Cassian. Marking the sun’s trail across the sky: east.  
  
Bodhi’s shoulders sagged at the correction, “I… I was Lord Erso’s ward. Before… _everything_ happened.”  
  
Cassian nodded he’d heard Bodhi’s words; glaring over his shoulder when he witnessed a soldier admiring the _view_ .  
  
She was their general!  
  
“Show some respect,” Cassian hissed to the youth; taking pride in the reddened face blooming after being caught.  
  
Their general, and Cassian’s wife. No, not really. She was _Lord Andor’s_ wife (had _he_ been a better man). For all any of them knew, Jyn certainly should be considered Lady Andor: who’d mother the future of House Andor. If her own merit amounted to so little in the world of men.  
  
A general, a lady, and a married woman should be free from being ogled by common men. Cassian included!

* * *

Nights were little reprieve. At night, the sound of moaning disturbed his sleep. Kept Cassian tossing and turning; screwing his eyes shut as if that would make any difference to the offending noise. When sleep did arrive, he dreamt. Something he’d managed to cast-off with his childhood were memories of dreams. But now he was forced to sit in a tavern and watch a bard (who grew more handsome each night) as he serenaded Jyn. Dark eyes glinting when she pulled the bard against her. Her lips forming a circle as she cried out in pleasure—  
  
Nope! That was just the squeal of a camp follower in the distance, he reminded himself. Cassian slept, Cassian woke, and Cassian repeated the pattern of his punishment. When he finally decided to stay awake in the morning, groggy-headed and miserable, he got the special torture of riding behind the Lady and admiring her pert backside for the day’s miles.  
  
If captured from an especially unsettled trance, he wondered if the bard enjoyed all the perks from her athleticism. How could he not of?  
  
Cassian was not a pervert. He knew he was not! Though proof of this claim kept slowing creeping away as they rode on and on.

* * *

Now Cassian took great care not to watch. He understood the situation enough to stay restrained, but Cassian was a natural observer from the shadowy corners of life. If pastimes were allowed: observing was his!   
  
Brief glimpses of moments only half witnessed (seeded by continued exposure) and Cassian had begun to construct the details of Lady Jyn Erso.  
  
Be them real or not.  
  
His study of her was biased; doomed for failure. Over time the lady was morphed into Cassian’s secretest fantasies. It had reached the point of no return: where he could no longer decipher what was the woman and what were his lonely flights of fancy.  
  
Was there really a trail of freckles dotting along the bridge of her nose? Or were those spots just a trick of light? Or splattered mud from flooded roadways and endless travel?  
  
More recently, Lady Jyn could be likened to a child’s delusions of a fearless shieldmaiden from the Age of Heroes: an unearthly creature with deep eyes who could just as easily save the day as rip everything to shreds.  
  
She projected sheer magnetism, and Cassian obeyed. When the mythic creature jumped off her horse, Cassian was already swinging a leg over his saddle to follow. He heard Jyn calling out, “ _STOP_ ,” as he moved after her into the treeline; sensing a delayed response from the other riders.  
  
Cassian rarely found himself surprised. Yet the lady did it again! Stubbornly announcing for the entire wagon train to ‘ _STOP_ ’ so she could liberate prisoners hanging from the trees of a ruined Riverland village. Men who'd been left for dead.   
  
The smell of decomposition ran rancid. Cassian’s eyes took in the shriveled skin of dehydration as Jyn aimlessly started cutting ropes.  
  
“Help them to the ground,” she ordered a group of Festian warriors.  
  
But the men remained where they were; turning to Cassian instead to declare, “They’re dead. Leave the crows to finish the rest.”  
  
Cassian scowled at the group; declaring in a voice meant to carry through the ranks, “Do as my lady-wife commands.”  
  
He kept his back to Lady Jyn, however. Not wanting to see the look of disgust from his declaration. Cassian had meant no offense.With everything this woman was, was she not owed utmost respect?  
  
How was Cassian ever to trust that these men followed him loyally if they treated his lady so flippantly?  
  
To demonstrate his position matched the lady’s, Cassian grabbed the legs of a body Bodhi had only just freed from ropes.  
  
“The flies have been at work,” observed Bodhi with a grimace; tilting his head away from the open-mouthed corpse buzzing with insect activity. “Do you think she’ll be wanting us to bury the lot? Is there time to dig enough graves?”

Cassian heaved the body to the side of the roadway; muttering back to Bodhi, “We’ll do what we can. Give them some manner of dignity in death.”  
  
A lithe form climbed into the trees. Cassian held a heightened awareness of _that_ form. With sure limbs, Jyn Erso was now hovering over the tethered graveyard; looking for any signs of life.  
  
Bodhi knowingly stated, “Jyn will not find fault with that.”  
  
Cassian sincerely hoped she would not.  
  
“He’s still breathing,” Jyn screamed down to the men; waving her arms in the air to gather attention. With Bodhi and Cassian’s assistance, the body of the foreign priest was lowered gently. His breathing a laboured whimper; like a weakened flame just about to be smothered.  
  
“Can you open your eyes?” Cassian knelt to ask the priest; glancing up to the fretting Jyn Erso and pondering different excuses to get her to leave this harrowing scene. Surely, Jyn should not have to watch another death.  
  
Despite Cassian’s estimations of this priest’s chances, the body released a fragile laugh “Little reason to waste the energy: I’m blind.”  
  
Relieved, Cassian’s eyes darted up; clamouring to study the Lady’s reaction to her latest bout of bravery. The count of lives she’d saved because of her stubborn streak of heroics was piling up. But sure: Cassian was being silly by alerting the lady of this fact! When he’d pressed his praise and thanks, she’d only pushed back defiantly.  
  
She stood over the priest when Cassian sent three Festians for a wagon. Despite the priest’s insistence that he’d always been blind, he could not stand. The priest had barely the energy to lift his head when Bodhi squatted to offer his water-skin.  
  
There she stood overlooking all; clutching a small crystal necklace into a fisted hand. Seven-sided crystals were religious idols in the south. One of the few things Cassian knew about Jyn Erso’s culture. Where he’d never considered Lady Jyn being a devout believer in anything, he watched her mouth move as she silently recited her prayers for the priest. Her forehead creased with the intensity of her prayers; focusing on her task or whatever deal she was making to her gods for this priest to live.  
  
Lovely eyes opened with a start; she must have felt him staring like a cow! Lady Jyn lifted her head to meet his boyish gaze; the corner of her mouth twisting in a simple recognition of his stare. She did not look away— for once. Did not turn to bestow her attentions on the vastly more deserving ‘elsewhere’.  
  
His wife surprised, amazed, and delighted Cassian at every turn.


	8. Not A Decent Farewell

Jyn braced her arms over the tabletop map as Leia explained their strategy. Slitted eyes were intent on the fake hills and forests dotting the painted landscape; on a miniature castle when Leia moved their model troops around as she described the planned siege. Jyn was willing to look at anything but opposite the table: where Cassian’s downcast eyes inspired Jyn to admire just how thick his lashes appeared to be.   
  
No soldier (worthy of any merit) ever noted their confrere’s eyelashes during a war council!   
  
Jyn’s eyes followed Leia’s game pieces as they moved, because she was not a silly little girl playing at war and blushing over a man’s eyelashes. She was not!

Lord Ozzel, after an unsuccessful ambush of their ‘ _Rebel_ ’ camp, had fled back inside his castle’s sturdy gates. Unfortunately for the failed tactician that was Lord Ozzel, Leia had every intention of striking while the iron was hot! Leia and Jyn were already plotting for retaliation as Lord Ozzel fled like a startled mouse; scurrying back inside as the drawbridge rose beneath his horse’s hooves.     
  
“He knows where Vader is,” Leia informed the amassed company. “This war could end tomorrow if we just get our hands on Lord Vader. By all accounts: Ozzel must be kept alive! Make certain every one of our soldiers understands this order.”   
  
“Understood, your Majesty,” Cassian replied; tilting his head in a quick — yet efficient bow for courtesy's sake. He was one of those who did most things for courtesy, by Jyn’s observations.   
  
When her eyes did finally rise for longer than a glance, Jyn received a similar tilt of acknowledgement from the man; showing he also ‘ _understood_ ’ the role Jyn had played in this plot’s formation.   
  
More unnecessary courtesy that left Jyn seething in her own confusion. Truly, what did these nods of acknowledgement, utterances of ‘mi’lady’, and empty courtesies even amount to? Nothing, but more farce!   
  
Should the war end tomorrow, Jyn had no doubt Lord Andor would promptly petition the High Septon for their annulment. If peace be declared in the morning, Cassian would be emerging from the High Septon’s solar by noon declaring everything sorted and Jyn was _free_. …and she wanted the war to end! The endless uncertainties, the loss of life: the only thing Jyn could truly hope for (without an ounce of selfishness) was the war to end and everyone to be free. Whatever freedom meant for her now.

Leia told the council, “Our sources from inside the castle—”

 _Sources_ : one scared kitchen-boy eager to tell Leia and Jyn everything over a piping hot bowl of gruel. On top of his failed strategy, Ozzel had also done little to ration depleted food storage within the castle. The vast majority of the castle inhabitants will welcome the siege with open arms if it meant wagon-loads of food came with each enemy soldier.   
  
“ — the Festian forces will seek out this supposed secret passageway. If the information proves true, they’ll funnel inside from beneath the western gate. The rest of our forces will press-in from the east: in open assault,” commanded Leia; self-assured and unyielding.   
  
Commands that Jyn had not been made privy to prior to this moment, and had certainly not agreed with.     
  
Fists clutched the table till her knuckles blistered white; Jyn had never been one for surprises. Jyn’s back tensed. Muscles, already worn and torn from fighting and traveling endlessly, were now painfully taut like a waiting bow. A familiar reaction when Jyn thought herself trapped. She felt the sudden surge of energy looking for a fight; ready to direct her insecurities at the first viable target.   
  
But her eyes rose and fixed across the table; locking to rest on Lord Andor as he watched her for reaction. Had Leia consulted Cassian, but not Jyn? Did he already know of this scheme?

All she found was a brow stretched high with his usual resolve when set-on a task, and a calm scowl betraying nothing. Somehow, Jyn calmed at this neutral rivet that made so little sense to her.  
  
Their orders were given. The loyal commanders bowed as Leia moved to exit the tent; muttering confirmation that they understood the roles that were to be played for a swift victory.   
  
Slow to collect herself and leave the tent, Jyn mirrored Lord Andor as he busied himself with little tasks. Cassian fidgeted with model pieces fighting under the banner of a black bear near the western wall, and Jyn realigned the rows of other sigils in the east.   
  
When a stout lord became the latest and final exit for them to be alone, Cassian cleared his throat to declare, “It makes sense: this strategy. Do you not think?”   
  
Jyn pursed her lips; frustrated, but she had to admit, “It sounds logical, and looks promising laid out thus. But most things make sense before we actually arrive on the battlefield. Plans fall to the wayside when the battle begins...”   
  
No longer able to ‘right’ the already pristine rows of their army, Jyn started fiddling with the dragonglass dagger wedged into her belt. Knives had never been her type of weapon, but Jyn was more than willing to keep the dagger on her person at all times. The slender blade did not hinder her movement, and the cool stone sent a pleasant sensation shooting through Jyn’s finger tips each time she touched its chiseled sides. Jyn had grown fond of her little dagger—   
  
No, not her’s. _His_.   
  
The sound of a stunted cough forced Jyn to look up as her fingers danced along the frosty dragonglass. Catching her eye, Cassian nodded down at the dagger. But said nothing to claim what was rightfully his.   
  
Jyn’s fingers stilled; captured in their newest idle pastime as guilty as a thief found eating a stolen loaf in broad daylight, “I suppose I should have returned this to you long ago.”

The dagger was an heirloom of his family. Not something anyone would willingly leave behind on a pillow come morning.

Jyn’s wearing of the dagger had become a force of habit. A daily routine of preparation for the unknown; adjusted to include slipping the dagger into her belt each morning, only to carefully place the blade to the side of her bedroll each night.   
  
Even with the offer hanging over them for a quick return of ownership, Jyn did not consider just sliding the dagger over the table to Cassian and being done with it. Fingers started sliding over the cold surface. Slower; tantalizingly so. Fully aware they had a spectator now as hooded dark eyes followed each lift and dip of appendages.   
  
His voice trembled, briefly, before Cassian inquired of her, “Do you still not believe that dagger killed the undead?”   
  
“It is sharper than I’d suspected,” Jyn relented with a wrinkle of her nose. “But I’d have to believe your ancestors fought frozen demons, with none but sharpened stones, and survived to tell the tale.That would sound more like a story people tell to scare children into eating their peas, at least to my ears.”

“They did,” Cassian told her earnestly. She sensed his movement, but was still shocked to find Cassian had crossed the table to stand at her side; now towering over her. A hair’s breadth away from staking his claim… of grazing the handle of his dagger and drawing it out of Jyn’s belt. So easy to take, but Cassian wasn’t focused on that task.

Proximity forced Jyn to tilt her head backward to regard him. She repeated the words from their wedding night, “ _I’ll reserve my disbelief_ .”   
  
He laughed. A choked, stunted sound not readily used. A lift of his nose suggesting the noise surprised him just as much as it did her. Jyn imagined prolonged use could break apart the cobwebs and dust, lending Cassian’s laugh to be described as a nice sound; jolly even.   
  
“Keep it,” he said. “Might come in handy someday. If the undead are ever foolish enough to come after you.”

That was too much for Jyn. Too much fondness, too much familiarity, too much hope. Hope: for a future that would never be. These feelings, as simple and honest as she could muster, felt a betrayal of self. Of the many level of disconnection and removal she’d installed to protect herself over the years. It shouldn’t be too shocking: Leia and Bodhi had managed to seep under her skin after all.

However, this was different.  
  
In spite of everything, she liked this Lord Andor. Jyn might have enjoyed a life with this man (even with his fanciful stories of ice spirits). If the gods blessed Jyn Erso with a long life (still debatable), there could be worse fates than spending hours listening to Cassian Andor’s silly stories and helping him grow more accustomed to laughter.   
  
With newfound determination, Jyn arched upward; rolling her feet to balance on her toes. Many a person must have kissed another before battle. Jyn ignored the idea that there might be an awkwardness in the aftermath. By the time her lips reached Cassian’s chin (barely brushing through his beard), Jyn decided this was her right: a wife was allowed to kiss her husband goodbye before he goes off into what could possibly be a trap. Jyn was now convinced it was a trap.

Just once, Jyn Erso wanted a decent farewell before being separated from someone she cared for.  
  
Though that would prove too much a request!   
  
A Festian youth interrupted to deposit a letter into Cassian’s hand.   
  
Jyn hid her embarrassment by brushing a speck of dust off Cassian’s cloak; pointedly taking three steps backward as the youth waited on his lord. When the backs of her knees knocked against a chair, Jyn sat heavily. Still, she stayed. Not giving up hope of receiving some sort of goodbye in turn.

Long fingers made quick work of snapping the seal in half, but his dark eyes still rested on Jyn’s. Watching Jyn with a furrowed brow of concentration. Had Cassian even glanced down at the parchment’s contents, Jyn would have assumed he was thinking over urgent news from the North. Whatever the letter from his maester entailed, Cassian did not ask Jyn for privacy. He did not hint that she’d overstepped their boundaries by staying. So Jyn leaned back in her chair; playing at nonchalance as Cassian finally detached his gaze to read.   
  
Dusty skin paled sickly; like Cassian had applied an aged powder over his face. Now nothing could stir Jyn from her seat. She studied his expression as he briskly read the letter; eyes rising only to fall and give the information another read for comprehension.

“Not bad news, I hope,” Jyn roused his attention back to her; unsettled when Cassian appeared to be starting a third read.   
  
“I hardly know,” Cassian stammered; even though his manner presented he knew very well!   
  
Jyn guessed at possible causes aloud, “Troubles in the North? An uprising? Did the Emperor send troops—”

“My maester requests my speedy return,” Cassian told her. “They need our warriors… they need me to come back.”

Jyn scowled up at him now, nudging gently, “Warriors sworn to the Queen and her cause. As are you yourself. You gave your word that—”   
  
“Words mean little,” muttered Cassian. “ —if I don’t protect my home.”   
  
Concerned, Jyn reached to grab the letter for a read; but Cassian snatched the sheet of parchment out of her grasp. Offended at the slight (at his lack of confidence in her), Jyn stated, “I only mean to help.”   
  
Cassian paced the tent frantically; balling the letter into his fist. “I know you do,” he replied evenly.   
  
Indignantly, Jyn rose from the chair; marching across the tent to grab Lord Andor by his cloak. Dragging him by the neck to her level, all would-be kisses forgotten as Jyn spat out her unasked for council,   
  
“You decide the amount of reliance the rest of us can take in your oaths, Lord Andor. We ride off to battle within the hour. Strategy is plotted, and thousands of soldiers’ lives depend on the Festians attacking from the west. While I can see this news from home upsets you, understand that if you betray us today and prove deserter, those of us who survive this battle and live-out the war will be riding next to the North. And one of the most despicable things in our new regime shall be friends turned traitors. The punishment shall match the crime, there.”   
  
It was now Cassian’s turn to be offended, “I don’t mean to be a traitor,” he shouted back at her.   
  
Jyn crossed her arms defiantly, “Then don’t be.”   
  
Jyn felt the fury radiating off him as nostrils flared. There could be dire consequences to berating a proud man. But Cassian raised no hand against her, turning his head to escape her glare instead of taking their verbal conflict into a physical scrape.   
  
“I’ll need the rest of the hour to prepare my warriors for the western siege,” said Cassian dismissively; turning his back to her.   
  
Timidly, Jyn sought the exit; not completely convinced this seeming victory really was one. She called out to his back, “I wish you good fortune in battle, and my prayers shall be with Fest.”

“I’ll be seeing you once we’re all inside,” Cassian said; turning slightly to watch her leave. A small smirk pulled at his lips as Cassian looked up at her through messed hair.   
  
With a nod, Jyn repeated, “Once we’re all inside.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick apology to anyone reading this (or any other ongoing fics of mine): I am suffering from some major writer's block for the past few weeks. Tried to write an AU for Halloween where everyone was in a 90's slasher movie (which obviously didn't pan-out), have been trying to update several things by writing one mind-numbing paragraph at a time, and now I'm just going to focus on updating this fic up to the chapter I most want to write (and I assume anyone still reading most wants to read). We shall see if this works! Anyone with any tips for beating writer's block, I would be very interested in hearing them!


	9. Loyalty

With torch in hand, Cassian crept down the steep steps leading from the western wall through the labyrinth of a secret passage. A cellar, if their information was to be believed. Just a cellar with a tunnel system so the fine folk did not have to witness the channeling of food, to and fro, necessary for the castle’s survival. But no cellar was ever this deep within the earth. Not in Fest. The only thing dug so deep underneath the stone buildings of Fest were crypts.   
  
Still, Cassian reprimanded the warrior to his left who voiced concern over the perceived ‘bad luck’ of entering an enemy burial chamber. All the while pondering his own ingrained superstitions wailing at him this was wrong.

“It’s a cellar,” Cassian hissed over his shoulder. “A food cellar, and nothing more.”   
  
Feelings of dread were just the remnants of growing up listening to cautionary tales of ‘bad luck’ and why respect was owed to the dead. Even if their descendants were your present foe.   
  
The stench of mold could easily be mistaken for the musk of death and decay. The soft cascade of dripping water did little to calm the Festians’ doubts. Each time Cassian paused his movement to survey (in vain) whatever might lie ahead, his back was struck by the man walking too close behind. Every warriors footing slipped over the wet and narrow stone stairs, leaving them grasping each other’s shoulders to stay upright and avoid plummeting forward into the unknown.   
  
An endless quiet was unsettlingly hollow, and they’d yet to uncover empty barrels or crates hinting that the kitchens were nearby. Cassian heard first the grunts of confusion from the Festian warriors in the back of the squadron.

Then a blood curdling scream filled the unearthly silence as another voice alerted the group,  
  
“ _They’ve sealed us inside!_ ”   
  
Mounds of dark shadows stretched in front of Cassian; moving in tandem to block the advancement of the Festians. When Cassian recognized the gleam of castle-forged swords, he made his decision: dropping the torch in hand only to stomp the lone light-source till it was extinguished under his heel.   
  
They were trapped, and Cassian wasn’t about to light the path for the enemy forces.   
  
Cassian loosened the sword at his belt. There was only one way out of this cellar alive, and the clanking of swords in the back of the line hinted the Festians there had reached a similar conclusion. They were surrounded. The only way through the pitch-black enemy lines, to reach the forces that expected the Festians as back-up (to where Jyn was waiting to see he’d kept to his oath), was to fight their way through.  
  
Little skill was involved now. No strategy. This was the reality of war: of two groups hacking away at the other. No standards blazed with house glory. Even if they did, no one would be able to see another’s colors. Just black on black. Whatever dreams of heroism Cassian had in mind as a child (when he’d longed for battle and acclaim so recklessly) were long dissolved as Cassian plunged his great sword into the belly of a foe; grasping another by the arm ready to stab again — relinquishing only when the pair felt the other’s armor: not the iron of the Southlands, but worn leather ideal for quick movement and cold air.   
  
The Festian men released each other and pressed onward; focusing on the most simple of task. All they needed to do was just get through to the other side. In one hand, Cassian held his sword while the other traced along a stone wall. He needed to find the door. And not die beforehand. 

* * *

After awhile, the chaos of battle started feigning patterns. Which served to help Jyn detach; to formulate a pattern and not think of the man whose blood now ran down her mace’s edge. She needed to think of it in simple terms: as an act led to another act. Not that she’d finished a life. The enemy charged, she’d reacted. Clearer cut than the head wound inflicted.   
  
Jyn raised a wooden shield over head when the archers rained another round of arrows down on the enemy lines.   
  
The Rebels were still nowhere near breaching the castle’s walls. Leia continued to ignore any advice on pulling herself back (to stand, at least, outside the archers’ aim), and Bodhi…   
  
Jyn’s heart stopped when she noticed Bodhi was no longer within arm’s distance.   
  
So intent on locating her friend, Jyn failed to raise her shield when the archers fired again; allowing an arrow to graze her shoulder.

“Bodhi,” Jyn cried out instead of showing pain. The cut stung, but she would survive.

All she received was a cheeky wave as Bodhi raced with the newest raid towards the wall; climbing up a roughly constructed ladder… with his armor and helm cast carelessly to the side!   
  
Instead of the fine iron armor her father had commissioned for his ward, Bodhi wore only the padded leather of their training sessions over his tunic.   
  
Against her better judgement, Jyn sprinted after him; screaming at the top of her lungs as she climbed, “If we survive this, Bodhi, I will murder you myself!” 

* * *

It took only a moment for Jyn to inspect the relative cleanliness of her undershirt sleeve before it was pressed to the wound on Bodhi’s forehead. A small gash; thin and shallow enough that Jyn doubted it would leave a scar. Still, Jyn grimaced when she realized how close that arrow had come to a kill-shot. Had the archer managed to aim straight-on, Jyn knew Bodhi would be gone. Another loss. Another dead before his time.   
  
Like a long doted on child, Bodhi drank mouthfuls of ale as Jyn nursed him. Only brushing Jyn’s hand away when the wound started to sting too much from her efforts.   
  
“I’m not about to bleed out,” Bodhi attempted to draw Jyn’s attention elsewhere by noting Leia pacing the battlements; livid that Ozzel had been found in his chambers killed by his own men.   
  
It was a victory, but it did not feel so. No yet. Even as their flags now flew over the battlements.   
  
Any valuable information about Vader’s whereabouts died with Lord Ozzel.   
  
Jyn remained fraught with her own worries; handling the possible demise of a favorite friend with her usual gruffness. The fact she’d yet to see Lord Andor alive in the battle’s aftermath only contributed to the woman feeling like a bundle of quaking nerves. Jyn fussed over Bodhi like a clucking hen to keep her mind occupied and steady; even as her fingers shook.   
  
She sneered up at him, “Why did you not have your helm on? Truly, Bodhi: it is beyond foolish to charge an enemy’s castle with parts of your armor thrown to the wayside!”   
  
“I couldn’t see properly. And Northerners don’t wear iron-armor,” noted Bodhi like Jyn had never witnessed the lightweight leather garments the Festians favored. Highly untrue, that assumption.   
  
“I’ve noticed,” Jyn said slowly. Surveying Bodhi’s face in case he was leading her to another emotional outburst she wasn’t ready to have. “ — And they are foolish not to. Chancing fate with each and every step.”   
  
Bodhi exclaimed, “But it makes sense: iron weighs us down. Makes us clank around and be heard from leagues away; and rusts something horrid when it gets wet!”   
  
“Aye, but it also blocks deathblows. Keeps all your important bits protected,” Jyn stammered off; playing with her hands on her lap. Resisting the urge to touch _his_ dragonglass dagger again.   
  
“Festians aren’t knights,” said Bodhi radiating esteem and edging towards downright hero worship. “They’re warriors! While knights are busy showing off at tourneys and jousts, the Festians give nothing away of their skills. Nothing until it’s too late! They’re fast and cunning, and I think knights are just flowery cuffs of—”

“Did not you always want to be a _knight_ ?” Jyn inquired; eyes glancing towards a herd of Festians emerging from the tunnel system again. Carrying out the dead: both Festians and Ozzel’s knights alike. “That’s what father was led to believe.”   
  
And what she’d heard Bodhi proclaim throughout their too brief adolescence. Knights, back then, had been everything noble and true for Bodhi. Something worth aspiring.

Bodhi gulped; tongue thick with emotion. A rough voice shaking when he admitted, “Knights hurt people. Haven’t you witnessed that enough by now? Knights attack the weak for their own gain (or on their master’s orders), but warriors protect. Besides, if we are to live in the North, I think it best I adapt to their customs. I do want to fit in.”

Jyn sat a little straighter when more Festians (in their lacking leather garments) walked through the courtyard. _One_ , she counted off in her head. _Four_ . They’d leaves in their dark hair from trampling through the forests on their way to the western wall. Splatters of mud and waste leaking off their tunics. Deep gashes inflicted on sharp cheekbones.   
  
They deposited the dead indiscriminately in neat rows throughout the courtyard. Age, house, and social status meant nothing now.   
  
_Six_ . _Seven_ ... _Nine_ . “... And why would we be living in the North?”   
  
Home was the Lodge. Not some grand castle with high walls in Fest; passed down since the dawn of man. Just their hilly farmland running downward into marshy wetlands; a small acreage gifted to her father for his years of service. Not ancient, and still in need of expansion, but it was her’s.

Bodhi shrugged; like he hadn’t been considering this idea. Jyn knew enough of the man to suppose Bodhi had the details of their lives in Fest already solidly decided upon. Bodhi loved the think up the details of things.   
  
The last to emerge from the tunnels was Cassian; helping his men remove the final body. Leaving no one, living or dead, alone in the dark passage. An admirable leader. At least in Jyn’s opinion.   
  
Feeling such relief in visual confirmation that Lord Andor had survived to fight another day (that he had chosen to stay and fight _this_ day with her), Jyn did little to mask her joy. Her usual reserve melted into a wide smile she couldn’t keep in check. Besides, she’d no desire to be anything other than what she felt: happy. Instead of wasting her energy trying to appear otherwise, Jyn patted Bodhi on the shoulder as she took her leave; gliding towards Lord Andor and purposefully placing herself between the man and his obvious (single-minded) track towards Leia.   
  
Both their determinations were well-matched as they regarded each other: his masked in a scowl as he sought relaying what had happened beneath the castle to their Queen, Jyn with a smile so full her cheeks were starting to ache from prolonged use; contented she would have his attention foremost.   
  
She announced herself plainly, “You stayed.”   
  
“I said I would,” he answered; wiping a trail of mud and blood off his forehead. Saving Jyn the embarrassment of wiping the mess off herself.   
  
The urge to touch him persisted; Jyn balled her hands into fists in order to withstand the temptation. But she wanted to grasp his arm, run a hand through his hair: confirm with her fingertips he was solid, real, and safe. 

“I’m not used to people who do what they say,” Jyn told him. “Or who honor their vows.”  
  
People did not stay and do what they said they would. A lifetime of experience told Jyn this. Yet, here she was willing to gamble that there was an exception to every rule.   
  
“I’m not a traitor,” Cassian needlessly defended himself. “I mean to do what’s right—”

“Not so simple: figuring out what is in the right,” noted Jyn. A bluff, maybe. But she wanted to hear Cassian Andor define whatever ‘ _right_ ’ meant for him; to understand his thoughts as thoroughly as her own.   
  
With a grimace bracing towards a weak smile, Cassian explained, “Becoming a lord and having command… this is a position I’d never thought possible. I was content as a steward; contributing to things in my own small way. Letting the great folk make all the decisions. Now my duty, as far as I can tell, is to act in the best interests of those willing to follow me. A lord — or lady —owes that much to their people, do not you think? ”   
  
“I would never ask anything of anyone I’d not do myself,” said Jyn; shuffling closer as he casually threw the question back at her: _what was right_ ?   
  
Loyalty was owed to the land one managed, to the people who work the land, who live under its sphere, to friends, and to family… where Cassian came into this formation remained to be seen, but Jyn recognized he factored in the realm of her loyalty.

Cassian stepped closer in the circle they’d formed together as Jyn tilted her head; taking her time to survey his face: a nice face, even with the sliced flesh along his nose.  
  
Both pivoting around the other as they’d done since the start of autumn; taking the other in and wondering where they go from here. 

* * *

Thus they stood, still covered in their enemy’s blood, and Cassian could not imagine a more radiate sight than Jyn smiling up at him. For the first time in his life, someone believed in him. Maybe was even proud of his actions. 

  
Both visibly cringed when Leia’s voice billowed from the battlements, “I’m ready to hear what happened in the cellar!”   
  
Cassian nodded absentmindedly as Jyn whispered something about food; the eating or passing out of their food stores? Possibly an invitation, though he was too intent on bounding up the stairs to fully hear what Lady Jyn had asked of him.   
  
The Queen motioned him inside a solar; sprawling in a chair as she gestured at a jug of wine, “Ozzel had good taste — that might be all I can say for the man.”   
  
The unspoken offer to help himself ignored as Cassian raced to explain, “It was a trap. Lord Ozzel must have expected us trying to enter from the tunnels. We were swarmed on all sides. Maybe two dozen bodies crammed into the space. Over a dozen of his men dead; half a dozen of mine—”   
  
The Queen massaged her forehead as he spoke, “There’s a stink of Vader on this plot. Reeking all the more when I learned Ozzel got his throat slit before we even breached the walls.”   
  
“Might be,” murmured Cassian unconvinced. He’d no greater insight on Lord Vader’s thinking, and was more preoccupied with his concerns for the North. “I had requested an audience prior to battle—”

“I was busy encouraging my troops,” Queen Leia excused. “But you have my ear now. Speak your mind.”   
  
Cassian paled; fumbling over the air before reporting dispassionately, “I’ve troubling news from my maester. Although he does tend to overreact, I am finding it hard to ignore his latest claims; especially with winter approaching.”   
  
“Every maester still able to write has been sending out troubling reports of the coming winter. I receive several outrageous claims a day: a great flood is coming to wipe out the lands, a frog spoke and warns of a plague, a farmboy in the east will be our savior,” Leia sighed heavily. “All nonsense, of course! Just a bunch of priggish dogs whimpering for any attention we can spare. Though several have repeated this winter will be the longest in over a hundred years. More reason for us to secure the rich growing lands while we can.”

Relenting to the wine for courage, Cassian crossed for the jug; pouring a hefty glass and drowning it in one gulp, “My maester reports that the dead are marching in the North.” Releasing a nervous laugh, Cassian filled the glass again and drank.

The Queen admitted with a raise of her eyebrow, “Well: I’ve not heard that one before.”


	10. The Path

Jyn leaned against the stone doorway; watching Leia leaf through piles of letters as servants scattered around the solar searching trunks.

“Have we misplaced something?” Jyn finally asked when Leia sighed heavily; whamming a stack of papers down on the desk in frustration.

Leia paused to glance over at Jyn, but only mumbled under her breath, “ _You_ might have done.”  
  
Nothing felt amiss. Jyn looked down to see trousers on, dagger in belt, and felt generally ready to start the day. To establish her contentment with just about all her needs met this morning, Jyn took a large bite of apple as she entered the room.  
  
Leia gestured for the servants to remove themselves before urging to know, “Where did your husband sleep last night? Did you make note of the time Lord Andor woke?”

Jyn chewed her apple thoroughly as if it would get her out of _this_ line of questioning. Relenting after she swallowed, “We prefer separate sleeping arrangements. He snores. I kick. The louder he snores, the harder I kick.”  
  
A truth and some lies: a charming picture of domestic warfare painted. Masking the fact the one time they’d shared a bed had been peaceful. Jyn was ready to move to more vital conversation, but Leia’s frown only grew more pronounced. The vein on the Queen’s forehead throbbed as Leia’s anger mounted.

Eyes trained on Jyn, Leia nodded down at the apple, “Is there any possibility that you are…”

“Confused?” asked Jyn with a laugh. “Because I am a very confused right now.”

“... that you’re with child?”

“No. Just hungry,” Jyn munched her apple boorishly; wiping a trail of juice from her chin. “Besides, that is hardly the business of the crown.”

Leia acknowledged, “I asked as a friend, but also because that possibility is something I needed to consider before moving forward.”  

“...I can ask someone to fetch Lord Andor, if you wish it—”

Leia roared, “Anyone you send will only report back the information I already know: Lord Andor has vanished.” 

  
“Vanished?” Jyn’s mind ran to the most logical conclusion: kidnapped, again. Ransomed, again. Needing her…

Leia’s nostrils furled. She corrected herself, “Fled. Betrayed us. Whether home, or to report to our enemies, I cannot determine at this time. None of my correspondences seem to have been taken. No maps unrolled, or belongings tampered with. All we know is that the Festian forces were gone between the changing of the guards around daybreak. Silently; leaving no trail behind.” Anger boiling over, Leia picked up a lion statue off the late Lord Ozzel’s desk; flinging the bauble against the far wall. “—I should have locked Andor in a cell last night!”  
  
“What happened last night?” asked Jyn as she stepped over the shattered lion.  
  
Leia paced the room unsettlingly, but Jyn took a seat by the fire. Calm and comfortable in contrast as Leia almost wore a divot into the floor. Sometimes the most useful tactic was indifference.

Leia admitted, “He came to me with some wild claim, and I attempted to talk him down. Truly, I did! Lord Andor seemed back to his senses when he left. Did he not appear so to you?”  
  
Jyn’s jaw locked, “I know he received a letter that distressed him.”  
  
While she could not speak to the contents of the letter, or how Cassian behaved after speaking with Leia, she could make out his eyes over the courtyard late in the evening; dark orbs brushed with fire light. They had been sad eyes. Sad eyes that purposefully did not look her way.  
  
What had Cassian been thinking? Of escape, plotting betrayal, or of some misplaced heroism: whatever his motivations, he had not wanted Jyn involved. Cassian Andor had been sure to leave Jyn out of his confidence.  
  
“Oh yes,” Leia taunted with a cruel laugh. “The letter from that maester! Oh — I got to hear all about that letter.”  
  
_Lucky you_ , Jyn inwardly scoffed. But she kept herself in check: controlled. There was strength in indifference. Let no one ever claim otherwise. “And?”

Leia wiggled her fingers in Jyn’s direction, “ _The dead are coming for us all_ , or some other balderdash! We are so close to having the end of this war in our sights, and I’m expected to shiver in my boots about some frozen spooks from thousands of years ago? About some Festian story for children? I’m fighting living-breathing monsters. Monsters of the human variety. Men willing to slaughter every village they come across if it means that the status quo will continue unchallenged. But Lord Andor thought his maester’s delusions warranted my immediate withdrawal to Fest!”

“Balderdash,” Jyn repeated on cue; earning a commiseratory smile from Leia.  
  
Jyn remembered the story Cassian Andor had read to her. She recalled a warm bedchamber, and laughter each time Cassian whistled the howling war cries of the wights who challenged the First Men on frozen battlefields. But Jyn was not laughing now. An icy shiver ran down her arm when she thought about rotten corpses rising from snowdrifts.  
  
“Northerners are a superstitious lot,” mused Jyn aloud to downplay her own growing fears.

“Must be boring that far away from the world,” Leia said. “Lonely and boring. Maybe these superstitions serve to pass the time?”

Jyn attempted to smooth the issue over, “You and I are fortunate in our upbringing then. To have an understanding of the realities of this world, and not dwell on frightful fancies. I pity the Northmen. No doubt they believe the dead are coming to raid the lands and slaughter their children. However misguided this belief is, of course.”  
  
Leia raised an eyebrow at her, “You don’t believe any of this?”

“No, but I believe that they believe it,” Jyn noted. “We’re capable of any betrayal if we believe there’s a greater danger to be found elsewhere. If I could only write Lord Andor… “ Not that her words would carry much weight for the man. Jyn offered instead, “Or send Bodhi after them to speak sense. Give them a chance to rethink this rash decision, and have their numbers again for when we attack the Capital.”  
  
Taking a seat behind Ozzel’s desk, Leia spoke her final words on the subject, “We will deal with northern disloyalty after I have control over the south. And not before.”

“ _Northern disloyalty_ ,” Jyn hated the taste in her mouth as she watched the quill in Leia’s hand twitch as it started to write. “Meaning: you will conquer the south, then conquer the north.”  
  
“I will _reassign_ power in the northern realms to someone worthy of the task,” Leia corrected with her eyes fixed on a sheet of parchment. “And will oversee the execution of all traitors I find there.”  
  
Jyn thought of a rebuttal; some section of law or wordplay that would excuse a lord for foolishness. But Leia spoke truth when she continued, “Lord Andor knew his orders, and he chose to not follow them. Don’t think for a moment he doesn’t understand the consequences that come with not listening to one’s sovereign. Even if he does believe the dead ‘ave returned to send us all to hell and back.”  
  
Cassian Andor was doomed: be there terrors in the north or not. In fact, Jyn wasn’t quite certain which one was more to fear: the undead or Leia’s ere. Still, Jyn bit down on her cheeks to keep a neutral face.  
  
“What is our next course?” she managed to grind out. “To the Capital?”  
  
Leia admitted, “I don’t like our odds there yet. The Emperor is well provisioned, and expects us to strike. It would be much more advantageous to continue seeking Lord Vader alone; to separate his troops before we take on the White Guard.”  
  
Jyn listened to Leia with vague nods and grunts; sensing that her war now led to the north.

* * *

  
She sought the priest when Leia dismissed her. Her own variety of superstition, perhaps. But Jyn searched for the priest; her mind begging to find comfort in the religion of her mother.

Chirrut sat alone in the kitchens; scrubbing up a pile of pots after the mealtime rush. It was easy to forget the man was blind; especially as he flipped a freshly cleaned pot into the air, soaring towards the rack as his hands already started work on another.  
  
“Lady Jyn,” he greeted her. Explaining himself simply with, “You drag your feet when you walk and your boots are two sizes too big. Makes a very unique sound.”

“Would you listen to my confession?” Jyn was direct and blunt. “I need to find… absolution. To repent for my sins.”

The blind man smiled, wide and toothy, in Jyn’s direction, “You are too young to desperately be seeking repentance.Try again when your hair starts to turn grey. With a priest not dismissed from his Holy Order.”

Jyn spat, “You are an odd sort of priest. Is that why you were kicked out?”  
  
Chirrut’s smile did not falter, “My understanding of the actions of a priest were too unconventional  for other’s teachings. I believe the gods proscribed the need to practice our faith; to fight when defending the weak, and have since fought in great battles: here and in the east. But not many agree with a priest having a running death count.”  
  
“I have killed men,” Jyn told the priest. “None who would not have killed me first, but I remember my mother saying it does not matter the cause; seeking atonement means admitting all acts. So I have killed in the sight of the gods… I don’t recall the count. Estimate a sum nearing thirty each year, since I was fourteen… and round it up.”

A hand reached out to pat Jyn’s arm, “The gods will forgive your violence; done not for sick enjoyment, but to serve their divine purpose. Feel better?”   

“Not really,” Jyn realized tartly. “Shouldn’t you be suggesting acts of repentance?”

“Go leap backwards through the courtyard four hundred thousand times?” suggested the man with a laugh.

“You are a horrible priest,” Jyn said haughtily. “And I’m not quite finished with my confession!”

“This isn’t an official confession, though— “

Jyn stammered, “I have felt…. I’m not entirely sure how to phrase this one. I have felt _lust_ : in my body and in my heart. I have worked so hard to suppress these feelings, but they always seem to linger. More so, in recent months.”

Chirrut folded his hands in front of his face, finally fitting the role of priest. Even if he answered teasingly, “That is another matter where I differ from my Order. Did you know early religious text never explicitly state these feelings are immoral? And the bulk of the newer writings focus on the role of women being natural temptresses who should do everything in their power to resist, but the Faith also calls for mass procreation of the faithful to produce more faithful. For such a natural behavior, the Faith has created a ‘damned if you do/ damned if you don’t’ conundrum for themselves!”

Jyn snorted at this observation, and the priest continued, “We all feel lust, through proper like men may not admit to it. Lust is a common human state. However, I think it best to caution against adultery. Politically speaking, it can be a very dangerous game. Especially for a married young lady. Lust outside of a marriage may happen, but should not be acted upon.”

“And lust within my marriage?” Jyn asked; feeling flushed. Her mouth impossibly dry as she waited.   
  
The priest released a billowing laugh that echoed across the empty kitchen; bouncing off pots and pans as Chirrut toppled forward in good-hearted laughter. “Lust within a marriage might be a good sign you’re on the right track!”  
  
Jyn joined the priest with a stunted laugh, aware she’d made a breakthrough of her person with possibly the worst priest in the world. Her path was decided; marked and ready to be walked. Jyn would be heading to Fest; either to fight the undead, or wallop her husband on the head and drag him back south. Her path led to Cassian.  
  
It was useless to pretend otherwise, anymore.  
  
Jyn chanced admitting her plans to the priest, “Fancy serving the gods, in your way, up North? They have great need of your skills.”

One way, or another: Jyn was leaving at nightfall. She’d travel light; intent on matching the Festians’ head start.

“—When do we leave?”


	11. 'Winter is Coming'

After days of traveling, they reached house Andor’s seat: Galestone Castle. Just moments ahead of the first snowstorm sent to ravage the Northlands.   
  
While Cassian had debated himself for most of the trek, entering the stone walls of Galestone brought the man final resolve in his actions. When Kes Dameron was greeted by his wife and newborn son as the gate lowered behind the warriors, Cassian knew he’d properly served the Northmen who followed him.   
  
Their fight was in the North.     
  
And Cassian’s place was with his people. His role was to serve: be it as cupbearer, steward, or lord. Made little difference the title used, the function was the same: act in the interests of Fest. Or die trying.   
  
The return _home_ served as a return to type: from behind the league of men, in the shadows of the gate, Cassian observed the small family’s greeting. Shara’s arms coiled around Kes to hold him close as they whispered the sweet-loving nothings that lovers were known to do. Well lacking in experience with mutual affection and fondness, Cassian could not attest to the words said. But their words only stalled when Kes kissed the babe’s forehead and muttered down to his son.

Cassian took the scene in; begging himself to recall the joy of the Damerons if his thoughts ever became plagued with regret. It did no one any good to dwell on discarded promises now.

Only one person, in a castle of hundreds, was truly pleased to see the new Lord Andor safely returned to Galestone.   
  
“ _CASSIAN_ ,” the high-pitched shrill of the maester made Cassian cringe; waiting knowingly as the long legs of Kay come rushing down from the battlements. “ — I’d anticipated your arrival two days ago!”  
  
Cassian held up his hands in mock surrender, “We made good time given the weather.”   
  
“You have surprised me,” Kay observed; eyes tracking Cassian’s appearance: dirty and travel-worn. “Arrived back to Galestone alive? Without a missing limb! I informed the late Lord Andor that taking an unseasoned _steward_ to the frontlines could only amount in a quick and painful death for you—”

Cassian nodded unperturbed; too used to Kay’s manner of bluntness to bat an eye at casual mentions of his death, “I followed your advice. I just kept _moving_ , and not _dying_ .”   
  
“I am happy to be wrong,” Kay stated primly before dragging Cassian towards the stairwell.   
  
With a weak smile, Cassian realized that might just be the kindest sentiment he’d ever received. From anyone. Which did not bode well for human kindness in general.  
  
Kay kept speaking a mile a minute; throwing out sums and accounts that Cassian was only half digesting. The household matters that had been a steward’s concerns, now paired alongside the politics of war.

“—the Wildlings have agreed to meet with you to discuss an armistice, but only if you go to them. Apparently coming here is too close to ‘bending the knee’ for their tastes. Also, we can have scouts set upon the Kingsroad to welcome and escort the Queen and her armies to the North. Seems a lot of useless pomp and ceremony, but southerners seem to go in for that sort of nonsense.”   
  
Cassian’s throat tightened, “The Queen, and her armies, will not be joining us. Unless they come to take my head.”

Doubtless, with Jyn Erso leading the charge!  
  
Kay craned neck other his shoulder to survey Cassian’s expression (to ascertain if this was a rare glimpse of humor from the other man). Understanding the truth of Cassian’s words, Kay heaved out a long sigh, “Wildlings it shall be then, as far as allies are concerned! Do not trouble yourself with the south. If we fail, the walkers will not leave much neck or head to be decapitated.”   
  
“Very comforting, _that_ ,” Cassian drolled with a grimace; entering the familiar solar of the Lord Andor.   
  
A fireplace, deep enough to sleep four grown men, boasted a roaring flame; heating the small chamber pleasantly. A long table with Kay’s work scattered in disarray; volumes of ancient text and fragments of maps.   
  
On the far side of the room, stationed next to the door that led to the Lord’s bedchamber, was Cassian’s small pallet on the floor. Where he’d slept with one eye open; just in case Lord Andor needed assistance during the night.   
  
Stationed at the table’s head, Cassian stood taller now; firm of voice (the voice of a lord, not a servant) when he proclaimed into the makeshift war-room (for only Kay’s ears), “Let us begin.”   


* * *

  
  
“ _Oh, once I slept on a featherbed,_ _  
With blankets woolen warm  
Now I’m glad to lay my head  
On a cloak that’s old and torn  
So sing with me a merry catch--  
For summer days will come again:   
My love he is a solider boy  
__So I’m following the drum._ ”

  
The blind priest interrupted to praise Bodhi’s singing over their long anguished for fire, “You’ve a charming voice!”   
  
Jyn agreed with Chirrut: Bodhi’s singing was impossibly cheery as the three huddled close; none willing to admit they were likely lost in a festering snowstorm. Directions shifted, and any trace of the Festians’ marching disappeared with the wind.

When Bodhi started the next line about young lovers in wartime, he winked at Jyn. Confirming he understood why Jyn was heading North. Jyn was tempted to throw a snowball in his face.  
  
“If my fingers weren’t about to fall off from the cold, I’d strangle you,” Jyn hissed at her friend; folding her arms deeper inside a cloak for warmth.

Bodhi just laughed at her flare of anger, singing higher now,

 

“ _With a pitter-patter tat_ _  
And a rattle and a scrap  
And the beat of a marching song:   
I’m ragged and I’m worn,   
And my hose are torn-  
__But still I follow him along_.”

  
  
“You don’t have to wheeze so. Bodhi is only teasing you,” Chirrut cautioned Jyn.

Jyn sat up listening to the wind rushing around them. Howling towards a blistering gale. In truth, Jyn was sure she’d made no noise of discontentment; however much she wished to.

“Stop singing,” she commanded Bodhi; placing a hand on his arm when he sang louder. “ _Hush_! I’m being serious.”

Chirrut reached for his discarded staff, “Something is circling us. I can hear their feet shifting as they move closer.”

“Feet?” Bodhi stammered softly. “So people? Not wolves—?”  
  
Jyn heard nothing but gusts of whistling wind; saw nothing but the blanket of falling snow reflecting off the fire-light between the travelers and the seemingly endless night. However, the familiar feeling of being watched clawed at the back of her neck. Jyn clutched her eyes closed; forcing herself into a similar state as the blind priest… _there_ ! Her ears finally heard the crunching of snow under boots. Multiple pairs of boots; and then something else dragging along with the boots.   
  
Jyn’s heart raced; adrenaline pumping blood to ring a warning in her ears. Without a doubt, Jyn felt like she was being tracked. _Hunted_. Even with the mace at her feet and dagger on her belt, Jyn felt like someone’s unwitting prey. But she ignored this feeling; pressed it down deeper with her other self-doubts.   
  
She had brought Chirrut and Bodhi to this place, and it was her responsibility to keep a cool head for their sakes.   
  
The rational conclusion was that Festian scouts had found them. Festian scouts were the only group (that Jyn knew of) who could track so successfully during a snowstorm.

“The Festians have found us,” Jyn alerted her traveling companions. “We must be near the border.”

Jyn rose to greet the scouts, but Chirrut motioned her to wait.

“Strange that they should not be calling out to us,” he said to his companions. “Or ask what we are doing this far North. Demand to know our business here. But no: they are circling us. Appraising our numbers...”   
  
Jyn watched her breath hoover in the air; contemplating Chirrut’s words. “Perhaps they think we’ve been sent to execute Lord Andor?” she heard herself whisper.

Chirrut calmly replied, “Then they should have taken us into custody already. Should have marched us off to Galestone to be questioned by their lord.”

Bodhi chuffed nervously, “The crunching stopped.”   
  
In a fluid motion, Bodhi retrieved his own sword from the fireside; a short piece of curved iron. All three travelers stood and turned their backs to the fire in unison; presenting their weapons to whatever insisted on circling the camp.   
  
Jyn called out into the darkness, in her most authoritative voice, “Make yourselves known! I am Lady Jyn Erso, wife of your liege lord, and I demand —both of my companions and I— to be taken safely to Galestone Castle.”

Without a sound, the shadows moved in; shuffling in the space between firelight and night. Just when Jyn thought she recognized the face of a man in the darkness, it dissolved like just some trick of the light.

She tried once more for diplomacy, “There doesn’t have to be any violence here tonight. Walk away while you still can.”

Jyn issued her last warning as her fist rose high on the mace’s handle. Twirling the mace to test the balance when glowing blue eyes sparked to attention; an arresting sight that fixed on Jyn.   
  
No man emerged. Not _man_ , any longer. The parts of a former man’s face persisted now distorted. Flesh peeling off bone. Flesh now gray and cracking; in a state of decomposition Jyn had never witnessed before. She’d seen the bodies prepared for burial, and the skeletons they would become. But this state rested somewhere in between. A bloated-graying corpse stood before her, with a sword ready to strike.   
  
This being was a perversion of human. Made all the more prevalent when Jyn lunged forward to crash her mace into its chest bone: no blood leaked from the hole she left there. Her beloved mace cracked to dust from the blow, and the attack did nothing to halt the creature’s advancement into camp.   
  
It tossed Jyn to the side like a feather as it rounded on Bodhi. Chirrut chanced an attack on its head, whalloping at the skin and bone that kept a head tethered to the rotting body—irritating the monster enough to rip Chirrut’s staff in half and toss both staff and its master into the snow.

In easy stride, the creature overtook Bodhi; hands spanning the man’s neck as Bodhi struggled to keep his footing. When Bodhi sank to the ground, the creature followed; screeching a whistling warcry.   
  
Jyn recalled the whistle of Cassian; of the lark this had seemed nights past. Seeing little alternative, Jyn put her faith in those stories. She grasped the dragonglass dagger before jamming the piece into the walker’s back.   
  
It turned to snarl in Jyn’s face; raising arms into the air as it glistened into pure ice, before shattering into hundreds of thousands of crystals drifting off with the snowstorm.

As the three panted for breath, each trying to process what had occurred, it would have appeared (to an outside spectator) the monster had never been there at all.

Until another walker raced for Jyn; growling like an animal as it charged. Chirrut interceded. The blind priest picked up half his staff and blocked the walker’s path, sending it flying into the fire.

Unlike the instant death from the dragonglass, this one hissed and charred as they watched its demise.

“Our weapons didn’t leave marks,” Bodhi stammered to the others. “Only that dagger…”

Chirrut offered, listening to the final sounds of the walker, “—And fire.”

Jyn kept her dagger in hand as they packed up camp, “Cassian… Lord Andor read as much to me. During the Long Night, when the First Men battled the undead, only a couple of things could be used as weapons against them. Dragonglass, fire, and... something else.”

“I don’t find it comforting you can’t remember what else destroys the undead,” Bodhi replied, his fingers shaking as he shouldered their packs.

Jyn shrugged, “We’ll carry torches, and I’ll keep my dagger out. Don’t want to spoil the fun, but we probably shouldn’t be sleeping out here. If we press on, maybe we’ll come across some living people who could point us in the right direction.”

“Sleep?” choked Bodhi surprised. “Like I could even try after that!”

Chirrut agreed, “Sleep might be a great difficulty after a brush with death.”

“Literally,” Bodhi squeaked with disbelief. “Literally dead. They were…are… dead.”

A Festian accent called out to them in the common tongue, “ _WHO GOES THERE?_ ”

Three Festian scouts walked towards the fire, where parts of the walker were still being burnt to ash.

Chin high in the air, and still clutching the dragonglass like a new arm, Jyn proclaimed to the scouts, “I demand to be taken to Lord Andor at Galestone Castle. My companions and myself killed white walkers this night, and are willing to kill more in the service of Fest. ...I am also his wife.”


	12. Welcome

Cassian towered on the stairs overlooking the courtyard as people scurried through the gates; refugees from the latest attack only miles away. 

Kes Dameron stood two steps beneath him, finishing a solid report on what the scouts had witnessed in the aftermath. No food or supplies were taken — the dead had no need for such things. Just piles of bodies arranged in a spiral pattern. Family lines wiped out to form designs that no one living understood beyond the obvious warning: death was coming for them all. 

“Kay said he had already ordered all farms and unfortified towns evacuated,” Cassian voiced stoically; masking that he was surprised that not all Northerners were safe behind walls as Cassian and Kay plotted their next move. 

Kes replied, “Kay did, but It would have been impossible to enforce. We’re a stubborn lot. No one wants to surrender their homes to the unknown. Most are more than willing to fight, tooth and nail,  just to stay on their land.”    
  
“ — And die for nothing,” Cassian muttered under his breath. The words sounding harsher than he’d meant. Almost cruel. Still, with thousands likely to die in the war to come, every unnecessary death was just that: a needless waste. Lives that would have been much better served battling the undead; united with the rest of the living.    
  
Kes waited silently, and Cassian noted the pointedly blank expression of a man waiting for  _ Lord Andor’s _ commands. Betraying nothing of their own misgivings.    
  
“Make sure all the bodies are burnt,” Cassian instructed the man. “If any remaining family members request burial, tell them it is my direct order. We cannot risk anyone coming back...”    
  
Numbers were already working against them without the Night King summoning fresh kills into his army.    
  
Kes Dameron had begun to speak of the bodies disposal when Jyn Erso pushed forward in a newly arrived group; lowering a hood to make sure Cassian recognized her as she approached.    
  
“ _ Jyn _ …” the simple greeting so familiar on his tongue, yet severely underutilized in practice.    
  
This time Jyn must have heard Cassian heralding her name like his own sort of prayers. She did not seem displeased by the familiarity, only elbowed through the crowd until she was a nose-breath away from Cassian; climbing to rest on the same step. 

Awestruck at her sudden appearance, and delighted she had not pulled a weapon on him yet, Cassian wetted his lips as he thought for the right words.    
  
An apology almost escaped Cassian’s lips, but he could never show that sort of weakness. Not now. Not in a public space with gods’ know who watching the exchange.    
  
A traditional greeting (a rigid bow and mutterings of courtesies) felt too formal; bordering on ridiculous based on his lackluster nobility and complicated connection to this lady.    
  
Her hair had loosened. The usually tight knot had fallen, leaving bits of hair sticking to her cheek. A natural response could have been Cassian carefully ( _ tenderly _ ) brushing the pieces of hair —

Jyn decided on the greeting!   
  
Her elbow bent backward; hinting of the coming blow. Yet still Cassian was caught off guard when her fist collided with his nose. Cassian knew he deserved that much (and was certain she could strike harder if she’d wanted to), so he accepted the punishment; rebalancing his lanky form that had doubled over from the hit. 

Jyn dryly started, “Next time an army of the dead invades: it’s helpful to alert everyone on the matter. Not just tell the Queen and, when she refuses aide, leave it at that! More of us would have been willing to help. Had I the time, I might have been able to persuade some of the southern lords to band with us. But no! I wasn’t included in that discussion, and had to rush up here; spur of the moment like — ” 

She really was breathtaking when frantic; fire-eyed and brow wrinkling as she pressed her many opinions out in rapid breaths. A self-involved part of Cassian (which he rarely got to explore) couldn’t resist the tantalizing thought: she’d come for  _ him _ . Come to help. Not swinging a sword to lug off his head. Had he the time and talents, Cassian knew he could compose his thoughts into a sweeping romance. But he had not those abilities. Best he could manage was just to gape doe-eyed as she told him off. 

“ — why are you smiling?” demanded Jyn; hands rested on her hips. “Do you find this funny? … Are you mocking me?”    
  
Cassian attempted to curb his smile; promising the lady, “Definitely not mocking you.”    
  
When his smile proved beyond control, Cassian explained, “I’m happy… I did not expect to see you again.” 

Jyn observed, “Would be hard to see me again: after leaving  _ me _ behind. Unaware of the coming threat. Vulnerable.”   
  
“You’ve never been vulnerable a day of your life,” Cassian pridefully boasted of the lady; convinced in its truth. 

But Jyn’s glower only grew. In that moment, Cassian lamented knowing so little about Jyn Erso as to provoke her when he meant to compliment.    
  
She stepped closer still, and Cassian half-expected to be punched a second time with Jyn Erso’s full-force behind the fist. 

“I can be as vulnerable as anyone else in this world,” she darkly hissed up at him. “There’s a special kind of vulnerability for  _ us _ orphans. Even after we’ve grown.”    
  
They really were more alike than they were different: two halves of the same coin forged from lonely childhoods and minted in violence. Their coin was beaten and chipped from years of misuse, but remained whole. Cassian gazed down at Jyn knowing that he was (possibly for the first time) completely whole by her side. Whatever was coming for them.    


“Welcome  _ ho _ …” he coughed into a hand; fixing his greeting to be less presumptuous about what these lands might someday be for the lady. “Welcome to Galestone.”    
  
Bodhi emerged from the group, racing up the stairwell towards them, “Thank you. Wonderful to finally be here! Just as you’d described:  _ very cold _ .” Bodhi rambled the understatement with snow powdering his dark hair and a fresh snowstorm closing in around them. 

_ Finally _ ? Had their journey been so long?

Jyn left both men on the stairs (Bodhi now speaking on Northern trees’ ‘ _ remarkable _ ’ size); gliding towards the entrance with nonchalance. She called over her shoulder, “I’ll find some ink and parchment inside? If I write to Leia of all I’ve seen — what I’ve fought— it might not be too late to remedy your mistake and have the southern armies traveling North in a matter of days—”    
  
“My mistake?” repeated Cassian as he watched Jyn grace the halls that might someday be lucky enough to be referred to as  _ theirs _ . Following her now second nature.    
  
“Quite right  _ it _ was,” Jyn exclaimed; taking his words as admission of guilt. She flashed a magnanimous smile in his direction, marching through the fortress like she’d spent years charting every hallway and chamber. Like Galestone was  _ home _ .    
  
Cassian followed (of course he continued to follow). His legs picking up pace as her words started to form into several different realities. Each more exciting than the last.   
  
“—Wait! What have you fought?”   
  
She turned in a doorway, a hand fondly patting the dragonglass dagger in her belt as she smirked up at him, “Came in handy,  _ my _ dagger.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Snowed in with a couple bottles of wine: ready to do some damage!


	13. Home

The soap she bathed in smelled like juniper berries. Not overly floral. Fresh, yet bitter. A distinct smell that tickled down Jyn’s nose and throat; leaving her breathless from the punch of forest. Still, she couldn’t resist sniffing at her wrists as she folded the long sleeves of the robe that dwarfed her.   
  
Easily Jyn could become fond of the scent.

The former owner of the robe, who’d once slept in the circular chamber Jyn now found herself within, remained unknown.

A serving girl had been sent off to the Ravenry with a letter for Leia, leaving Jyn titter around the room with nothing left to do: the snowstorm too thick for any immediate action. Darkly, Jyn realized no raven could travel south with the letter until the winds calmed. Another standstill.  

There was nothing to do but rest up for the days ahead and worry.   
  
Or explore new surroundings if one’s head was incapable of rest. Like Jyn’s.

A simple bed, piled high with furs, looked promising after nights on the cold ground. Rafters layered the ceiling; worn-wooden walls draped with richly woven tapestries. Jyn crept closer to the scenes, lit by the fireplace, and studied the forests and animals. Raising an eyebrow when she noticed the tapestries all depicted Festians hunting, and did not shy away from showing the brutality of the sport.

But personal: everything settled in its rightful place with care. The room, this robe, and the tapestries were someone’s. However, rummaging through the lone wardrobe, Jyn lamented that _someone_ was decidedly not Cassian. She held up a tunic that could have housed four Lord Andors wrinkling her nose: _not Cassian’s at all_.

A tapestry along the far wall pushed to the side as a hidden door was opened.

Cassian entered with little preamble. Stopping his advancement shocked by Jyn’s presence. Clad only in a pale robe? All the more startling of a discovery!

And another lackluster greeting between them.

“I should have knocked,” the man realized aloud; leaning against the doorframe with eyes downcast. 

Jyn didn’t entertain the prospect of feigning offense. Much too worried that Cassian would immediately evade her if she played coy. A pesky ideal from girlhood, like a gnat buzzing over ripe fruit, hissed (in the voice of an aged septa) that a young woman should play aloof. _It was a man’s obligation to begin these proceedings, as much as a female’s function to submit_ . Finding nothing useful in that old lesson, Jyn promptly ignored it. Said rule ridiculous if it did not apply to Jyn. Or Cassian.   
  
“It is your castle,” she reminded the man. “There’s at least one incentive that comes with the title Lord Andor: you get to go where you wish in your own castle.” 

Cassian did not move. Did not retreat backward, nor fully enter the chamber.  Yet another standstill they were trapped to endure.  So Jyn coaxed, “Did you need _something_?”

 _Did you need me_? In any capacity! To speak with, to recite silly tales to (so the coming threat no longer felt so dooming), to sit quietly with (so the loneliness of the winter winds no longer felt endless), to fuck, to kiss, to hold, to find some manner of happiness while they still could—

“Kay— my maester— thinks a map of Wildling strongholds can be located in your wardrobe,” Cassian passed with single-minded resolve; quick to his knees to shuffle through the remniates at the bottom of the wardrobe.  
  
Jyn’s stomach plumated with familiar disappointment. She sat on the bed, watching with greedy eyes as Cassian’s backside flexed the deeper he searched. At least some entertainment had presented itself!

“When do we leave?” Jyn requested; sure to allow no refusal that she’d be going over the Wall with the rest of the party. She had not followed to be left in a castle; to die of boredom while the truly important matters happened elsewhere.

A stifled voice answered from the wardrobe, “When the snow decides to let-off enough for travel… or the wildling guide they’ve sent grows tired of drinking in the kitchens all day; and flirting with serving girls.”

Someone had better flirt with those girls! While they’re still young enough to be flirted with. Jyn was starting to recognize Festian men might not understand the mechanism of ‘flirtation’. Then again, neither did she.   
  
The closest she seemed capable was to not rearrange the robe when Cassian turned to glance at her; allowing a muscled leg and knobby knee to be fully displayed as she reclined on the furs.

Cassian stood rigidly again; shoulder fixed towards the far door. Pausing only to ask, “Is there anything else that can be done for your comfort?”

“I’ve not come to Fest for my comfort and security,” said Jyn with a toss of her head; trying to mask her snorting laugh at the question. Did he really think Jyn expected silk and lemon cakes in the wake of total war?

Maybe too harsh a reply, when he only meant to be polite. But she had reached frustration again where Cassian Andor was concerned. There it was again! The dull throb between her legs as Jyn watched him leave. The ripple of a truly perfect ass before they were separated again by a door. Jyn was becoming too familiar with desire; and with the erratic itch to throw something heavy at the space where his form disappeared.

So close, but so far. Jyn lifted herself off the bed. Contemplated storming through the opposite door and demanding to know what he was feeling. But Jyn talked herself down. She would knock on that door, and ask if an annulment was still to his desire…

Three firm taps on the wooden door, and Cassian had Jyn stopped in the center of the room; waiting patiently for him.

He didn’t stay lurking by the doorframe, but lumbered towards her. Eyes unrelenting as he asked, “Why did you come?”

To fight the undead, Jyn considered saying. To save humanity, another reasonable answer. Because she’d never seen snow before? All believable lies. Half-truths, as she’d grown to call them. Sounded less dishonorable that way, and more a function of survival.

But Jyn was tired of surviving only on half-truths. Her eyes softened as they took in Cassian; looking just as tired as she felt. Shoulders sagging under the weight of his responsibilities.

For once, Jyn wanted something real. Something wholly her own. “I knew my place was by your side. And yours was at mine.”  
  
Jyn would never know which of them reached the other first. Two objects in motion collided in the middle of the chamber; lips locking as arms grasped the other in a solid embrace. Fear persisted as they clung with desperation; afraid one might slip away if their touching ceased.  
  
The answer, to the long pondered question, was learned: a man’s beard felt different on each advancing area Cassian kissed. Against Jyn’s lips, the beard pricked like dull needles; but the combined vigor of both parties could be the cause there! His balmy lips: a reprieve that counteracted the stiff hairs’ path. Jyn could not imagine a time she’d not be kissing those lips now.

Along her neck, the beard scratched. Teeth nipped flesh when Jyn released a lofty moan.

The truth (the full truth) was still hissing inside her head, and her mouth was left dangerously open as Cassian’s sighed; attached to her neck and drifting to a bare shoulder as Jyn’s robe slipped away.

Jyn started to explain the _slight_ complication, “I lied.”

She felt another sigh being pressed into her skin, but Cassian did not hesitate long enough to breach her admission. Jyn wasn’t entirely sure he’d even heard the words.

“Not a calamity, by any means,” Jyn reasoned more to herself. “Just a tiny detail. Something you might notice…”

Half the robe dipped inward as Cassian took in the splotches of freckles weaving her shoulder blade.   
  
“...Not for any moral reason, or lack of interest,” Jyn continued with nonchalance. “So let’s not make a big deal over a slight inconvenience. I was always a bit too precocious for my own good; bit too lusty. Thought it was humorous to sing out all the naughty bits of songs. Everyone just assumed, and I saw no need to correct them.”   
  
Cassian held her as he started heeding her words, “The bard?”

Jyn recalled, “There had been a bard. Once. A very handsome one, too. And some others along the way. I might have well enough… but it always nagged in the back of my mind: what if this is a trap? What if he’s a loyalist? Means to kill me? Rob me? When you see the worst parts of humanity early on, you do tend to be suspicious about everyone’s motives.”

The fact his lips no longer savored any piece of her flesh within reach worried Jyn. But he did not step away. Just cocked his head to the side in confusion, “Why did you tell me otherwise? Especially when I’d already promised—”

“—Nothing really seemed to get a reaction out of you,” Jyn goaded; certainly feeling a reaction now; pressed against her ribcage a tent in his trousers. “You seemed dull as ditch-water, so I thought it could be amusing to annoy you a bit…” In his silence, Jyn complimented in a rush, “You reacted very… justly. A very modernistic reaction to your wife not being a maid.”

“Which you are?” Cassian voiced for final clarification. He liked to have the situation at hand; to believe all facts palpable, just as Jyn liked to wiggle about in them.

In her defense, Jyn boasted, “The bard and I did kiss; and had a good grope. But, technically speaking…”

Cassian was laughing now. The stunted, ill-practiced, chuckle she’d heard in Autumn. “Are you offended that I’m not, mi’lady?”

Was he teasing her? Or was there actually a possibility that the Lady Erso should have expected her husband's virginity intact? Jyn untied her robe; letting the billowy cloth glide down her body before kicking it aside. All the while staring at Cassian in challenge.

“Take your clothes off,” Jyn announced; enjoying the way his eyes dilated at the first sight of perky teats.

The air was cold enough that Jyn didn’t last long disrobed. She sought out the bed and furs as Cassian pulled shirt overhead; fumbling with the ties of his pants.

With impatience, Jyn enticed, “I’m wetter than a seal!”

“Noted,” said Cassian fighting to escape the remaining fabric. “So the impish maiden is back with a vengeance?”

“The impish maiden is celebrating her last hurrah,” Jyn dragged him to her; dominating kisses while her hands sprung to Cassian’s bare ass— using her hold on his backside to guide him right where she most wanted his touch.

The beard pricked at her cheek, left pinkish burns between her breast, charted her belly as ticklish and soft, but none of these delights held a candle to the way Cassian’s beard felt between her thighs: rough and raw as it scrapped when his tongue first tasted her.

Their marriage was ready to begin.


	14. Curious Eyes

_ Curious _ : Jyn Erso’s eyes had a very curious shape.  _ Salient _ . Never fully closing to the world around her. Half-closed, only to flare to attention; bright and ready to seize the world at large. And she could. Cassian had little doubt she could!

Cassian felt those eyes’ scrutiny even as her cunt convulsed around a single finger; thighs binding his tongue to stay put as she spasmed in euphoria. Upon release, Cassian slid along her glowing body until he hovered to better inspect those curious eyes straight on; arms framed around her face as he pressed his mouth to hers.    
  
Eyelashes fanned and batted, almost as demurely as a dolls, the moment Cassian entered her; holding his gaze unflinchingly as her hips thrust upward to greet him. Slow at first. Studious in practice. Gaining the intensity to take Cassian’s breath away as her hips rolled against him with mounting assuredity in the results.

Unaccustomed with deflowering ladies, Cassian was taken aback by her fakeness. He shuddered at her throat: she sighed. He kissed a bosom: she moaned. He braced a hand on the headboard over her: and Jyn Erso just snarled and bucked her hips to match the pace. 

Cassian’s hips stilled to belatedly ask the vital question, “Are you feeling alright?”

“ _ Alright _ ?” Jyn’s head tilted to the side; falling backward on the pillows in confusion. 

Cassian retraced his thoughts. “Is this  _ pleasing _ for you, Jyn?”    


Her head nodded; biting her lower lip before rising to nip at his jawline. Cassian was sure he heard a stunted laugh at his expense as her tongue explored behind his ear.   
  
She loved to rattle him (she had to!), because she replied, “Fucking is an action: implying  _ movement _ …” 

Jyn raised her knees to bow around his shoulder. Offering more of herself still — cradling him with almost tenderness.   
  
This wasn’t  _ fucking _ . Even with her fondness of vulgarity, surely Jyn had realized this wasn’t  _ fucking _ .    
  
In the firelight, her eyes glowed amber; radiating straight to Cassian’s loins.  
  
Movement returned. In tandem they thrashed. Jyn wrapped around him; engulfing Cassian completely in lithe limb and the anticipated athleticism he knew Jyn Erso would possess. Each time he surged forward over the lady, his arm cast Jyn into a lined shadow. There, her eyes sparked black; wanton black that peered downward between them to watch his cock retract only to push back inside her. 

Too soon Cassian’s body tensed as the blinding white-light of release forced his eyes to shut; soaring backward in his head as Cassian spilled his seed into the lovely creature who honestly just seemed to  _ want  _ him. 

Jyn held Cassian as he recovered. Ran a gentle hand through his hair before guiding his fingers down to her center.    
  
“Need a bit more,” she explained as his longer fingers grazed her folds. Unrushed. Eager for all the time he had left to discover what pleased his wife: be it fingers, tongue, or cock. 

In the aftermath they laid with their legs laced; gloriously naked and heaving with the furs thrown to the wayside. Until Jyn shivered. Not quite able to mask the quake of her shoulders before Cassian detangled to tend the fire. Jyn, at least, got to fully bask. She rolled amongst the pillows, tossing furs even further off the bed. Taking no time or energies to cover herself from the cold air. Making Cassian all the more resolved to build the fire to an absurd level of warmth to keep her content and as bare as her nameday. 

“Who taught you that  _ thing _ with your tongue?” Jyn wallowed on the bed like she was trying to keep the scent of fornication trapped on her skin. 

“A carter’s daughter,” Cassian recalled bending over to poke the fresh logs; seeing no reason to hide his source of knowledge. The carter’s daughter who’d thought he’d blushed as sweet as any maiden when she suggested the act. Gods bless Breda, wherever she be—   


Jyn rose on her elbows, “I’d never asked. Probably too late now…” 

“Asked what?” Cassian glanced again over his shoulder. 

He admired the bounce of teats as Jyn sat up on her knees to say, “I’d never asked if you had someone waiting for you. Someone important. Which would have been understandable: you left Fest not expecting to be married-off, and have been outspoken about an annulment as soon as one could be got — ” 

“For your benefit,” Cassian argued; attention so fixed on that bed and  _ that _ woman, he burnt a finger when the fire started roaring to life again. He sucked his thumb for reprieve, mumbling around the wound, “An annulment so you could marry up, by the way! Or some hedge knight you’d known since childhood.” 

“So Bodhi then?” Jyn taunted. “You were for an annulment so I could marry Bodhi? Do you understand how disturbing that sounds? He’s practically my brother! You wanted me to marry and fuck my brother? Instead of you?” 

Cassian waved a hand as he approached the bed; motioning for Jyn to shuffle to the side nearest the fireplace, “I don’t see the point in debating this further since an annulment will no longer be happening.”    
  
“It will not,” Jyn agreed as she settled on the pillows again; allowing Cassian to nudge her towards the fire as he lay to her side. “I’m married to you, and I intend to be thus until they bury us both.” 

How was he to answer that one? Practically, Cassian stammered a brief taste of Northern culture, “It’s Fest: they’d lay us out on a pyre and burn our corpses. In the old fashion.” 

Jyn side-eyed him, “Same pyre then. If possible.” 

Even turned towards the fire, Jyn’s nose was red from the cold. A Southerner through and through; unused to even the summer snows, let alone a storm in winter! 

Cassian swaddled her body with his own as protection; burying his nose between her shoulder blades as he whispered the vows he’d made such a mess of before, “I am yours and you are mine — ” 

He couldn’t recall all the words for the marriage rites; purposefully slurring sections (not even entirely sure Jyn was hearing at times). But she ended the vows with him; turning so their noses touched, “ _ From this day, until the end of my days _ … or (for everyone not us) from early Autumn to the end of my days.” 

When Cassian made a face, Jyn elucidated, “I misled the septas about our wedding night. Dirtied the sheets and everything!. Might have oversold you as a lusty barbarian-beast: however, that would give both of them something to fantasize about at night; locked away in their desolate cloister.”    
  
“Why?” Cassian felt a vein pulsating on his forehead. 

“I rather liked you,” Jyn admitted. A mischievous green sneaking back into her eyes. “You read a good story…read it well. Had you turned out to be less interesting than I’d decided, I thought the possibility of dying young might remedy the situation. For one or both of us.” 

Cassian sighed as he thought this over, “If I die before you, please do better vetting for your next husband.” 

“Yes,  _ darling _ ,” Jyn’s mind was elsewhere; kissing his neck absentmindedly.    
  
“I’m being serious,” Cassian sighed heavily a second time. “You might have ended up trapped by a crazy person; or a sexual deviant.” 

Her eyes still did not close. Or was Cassian too slow in witnessing them? Or were they blinking in sequence with his own? Jyn’s eyes just rolled artfully to the ceiling as she moved to straddle him; pawing through the hairs on his chest,  “You’re the one trapped now!” 

Cassian had the distinct feeling he’d bitten off more than he could chew with Jyn perched atop him; but his smile would not recede. Even after Kay burst through the door beneath the tapestry; greeting the new Lady Andor with a snide, “Get back to the kitchens with you! Cassian, did you not find the maps I need?” 

Cassian wrestled to drape a fur over Jyn’s shoulders as she calmly surveyed the maester, “I don’t even know where the kitchens are.” 

Did Kay not know who she was? How could Kay have missed the news that Lady Jyn Erso came after them, marched straight into the castle, and punched Cassian in the face… only for the pair to spend the evening in their bedchamber? There were parts of a loving story waiting to be pieced together, and Cassian had hoped the castle gossips would spend the storm doing just that! 

Cassian was struggling with his clothing when Kay started dragging him from the room; calling over his shoulders, “Then to the stables: it’s time everyone gets back to work. Undead to fight, and all that!” 

Trousers fastened around his middle, Cassian felt the volatile power of _ Lord Andor  _ ready to thunder down upon the maester, but Kay only remarked as he unrolled a sheet of parchment over their table, “Your wife seems  _ refreshing _ .” 

“Which is why you treated her like a common kitchen wench?” Cassian gawked at his friend. “And suggested I’m the type who beds kitchen wenches? Kay, I cannot allow you to —” 

“I thought you’d appreciate a wife who constantly keeps you in check? It has been cited (by several married men throughout the centuries) that jealousy incites a complex and passionate connection. Especially in an arranged marriage. Naturally, now she’ll consider you equal to the task; primed from several past dalliances,” Kay answered already more interested in his scroll than whatever domestic feud his words might have started. 

Cassian picked up a letter (one he’d never been ready to send South) and walked towards the fireplace before tossing it in. Words written in his own hand sizzled and charred; words meant to be read by the high septon (whoever that was now!), explaining just how unconsummated his marriage had been; how Lady Jyn was free and innocent of any of his crimes. Pointless now. But Cassian felt a deep satisfaction watching the letter burn.    


Boldly, Jyn entered the room. Clad only in a former Lady Andor’s robes, Jyn deposited the sought for maps under Kay’s nose with a slap against the table-top. 

“I’m here to work,” she told the maester before crossing to stand next to Cassian by the fire.    
  
Their hands wove together. Touch so second-nature, neither knew why they’d waited so long for contact. Jyn’s head rested against his arm to view the burning letter: her final escape hissing towards its end. Eyes both amber and green remained vigilant until the letter was ash. Cassian watched her. He studied the flame reflected in curious eyes, knowing the task was finished only when her unyielding eyes flickered upward to meet his.  

“What now?” Jyn asked of him. 


End file.
